


time waits for no one (time travel au)

by thatrotterfreddie



Category: Blondie (Band), Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), David Bowie (Musician), Queen (Band)
Genre: Band Fic, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Groupies, Hippies, Magic, Other, POV Multiple, Past Domestic Violence, Past Drug Addiction, Rock and Roll, Science Fiction, Time Travel, fantasy ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:01:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 75,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24184807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatrotterfreddie/pseuds/thatrotterfreddie
Summary: The skinny: two college-girls time travel back to London, 1975.Sher is a fiery, free-spirited media student who always finds herself in philosophical debates. Her best friend, the pre-med student Laia, is the sassiest sweetheart (no, really, she was voted class sweetheart in high school). When they find themselves swept into the 70s with four rock gods and their roadies, they enter a dizzying world of after-parties, world tours, and endless nights. But no one escapes their baggage. Not Sher, not Laia. Not even the cocky drummer who carries his battered heart on his sleeves.In a world full of lost causes (i.e. The British press, anyone?), what is one willing to fight for? If time waits for no one, what will everyone settle for?A sprinkle of time-travel magic, a dash of retro fun, a whole truckload of fluffandangst.
Relationships: John Deacon/Veronica Tetzlaff, Roger Taylor (Queen)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 43





	1. spread your wings

**Author's Note:**

> A LOVE LETTER TO YOU:
> 
> _To those of you who constantly daydream of the glamour and groove of the 70s— the fashion, the groupies, the underground music— all of it, this one’s for you. I hope you’ll get to live out your time-travelling fantasies through these chapters, the same way I’ve had while writing them. And most importantly, here’s a story brimming with the terrifying yet intoxicating thrill of living on the road, of risking your sanity for romance, and for the fucking unadulterated joy of speeding through life as an unruly group of youths._  
>  _Here’s to all of us, may we always be cool cats._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PART I
> 
> _spread your little wings and fly away  
>  fly away far away  
> pull yourself together  
> 'cause you know you should do better  
> that's because you're a free man  
> _

"You're insane," Laia shook her head when she saw Sher juggling three rolled posters across the packed student centre.

"I know, I know," Sher groaned, "But they had the iconic drum picture and I have the self-control of a bagel."

Laia reached to carry the other two out of her arms, "forty thousand students here and I chose you as my friend, huh."

"Please," Sher bopped Laia's head with the poster, "you love the music, don't even deny it."

"Okay, the music _is_ good. But Sher, my girl, you are obsessed with a 70 year old man." She put a finger down her throat in mock puke, "We are not the same."

The poster found its way back to Laia's head. "Um, rude much? Besides, 70 year old Roger Taylor can still, like, get it." she winked, knowing exactly what the words would do to Laia.

And as expected, Laia looked so simultaneously horrified and scandalized, Sher had to raise her arms and say, "I'm kidding! Unless..."

"You better be joking or I _will_ stop you from going to that show next month."

Sher gasped. "Traitor."

"Nah, for real," Laia said, "if I see you eyeing him all seductively, I will have no choice but to drag you away." At Sher's frown, Laia broke into a smile. "Dumbass, fine. _one_ flirty look, but that's it." 

Sher counted that as a major win. 

Around them, students in sweatpants and thick Aritzia coats swerved around the despicable slow-walkers to get to class on time. Snow fell in heaps on the tinted glass roof above them, but the student centre smelled only of one thing, the glorious Tim Hortons coffee.

"When's your next class?" Sher said as she side-eyed the ever growing line for said coffee.

"Anatomy in twenty. Shall I drop your disgraceful posters in my locker? I don't want you to be shamed by the TikTok kids again."

"Ha-ha," Sher grumbled, but after reliving the trauma, mumbled a soft _yes_.

"Will I see you at home? or are you leaving?"

"Leaving! At 5 remember?" she shouted to Laia who was already running against the current of people.

Sher saw Laia's raised thumbs among a sea of heads and chuckled as her best friend escaped the throng of people.

Sher herself had philosophy in five minutes, but setting priorities were never her strength. So, instead of running to class, she lined up for coffee.

Even as her head pounded, she found herself zoning out of reality. Thoughts of the adorably raspy voice of Roger Taylor plagued her mind and Sher sighed.

Next month couldn't come sooner. She'd been looking forward to it the whole year.

But first, she had to do the inevitable.

She had to go home.

So Sher grabbed her cup of liquid gold, strode the same direction as the crowd and went to class.

Hell could wait another hour.

—————————— 

Sher slammed the door close and barricaded herself inside.

She had lasted twenty goddamn minutes.

Twenty minutes of her mother roaring at her for the snow in their garage. As if she hadn't just driven three hours through a snowstorm to get there. But none of it mattered because, oh, who could be _stupid_ enough to park her car inside with all that snow?

Just once in her life she'd like to go home to a warm hug.

Sher sat on the carpeted floor and gazed around the childhood room she both loved and hated.

Multiple fairy lights were layered on top of each other to surround each corner of her room with a warm, yellow tint. Aside from the lights, her walls were empty. But she only ever needed the lights anyway. Everything else was unnecessary and a waste of money because she always knew she would move out after university.

But she wondered, as she pulled her knees to her chest, why she kept coming home anyway.

Her thoughts paved down the same old road, but this time, Sher knew better than to sit around until it suffocated her. Instead, she texted Laia and threw her still unpacked bag back into her car.

Four hours later, the two were gulping down four, outrageously priced, vodka shots at a hipster club.

"Dance?" Sher slurred and pointed to the terrifyingly-packed dance floor. Laia winced, but Sher knew she wouldn't refuse her the chance to escape. Not after Sher had bawled her eyes out in their dorm room earlier.

That was how the two found themselves sandwiched between strangers in a dirty dancehall.

There were better clubs in the area, but when Sher saw the Facebook ad promising a Queen rave, it was a done deal.

"If we die tonight, I swear Sher, I will personally get us resurrected just so I can kill you again," Laia shouted over the loud music.

"It's okay, these are friends," she said weakly, her heart not in it to argue against the disastrous night.

She didn't hear what Laia screamed back, but the look in her eyes was enough to show that she wasn't letting any new friendship bloom just that moment.

"Fine. Let's leave." Sher sighed.

Laia looked so relieved she stooped down to kiss her cheek, "Thank you! I'll sort out the best girls night in for us, don't worry, love."

As Radio Ga Ga faded into Liar, they pushed through the tight crowd towards the red exit sign.

Freezing wind slapped Sher out of her drunken state. Instantly, she wrapped her arms around her chest, regretting the thin crop top and faux leather pants she wore.

"And _this_ is why no one clubs in February," Laia said through chattering teeth.

As Sher skipped around, trying to regain heat, Laia risked a frostbite to call them an Uber. She was in the midst of a twirl when her legs faltered.

One second she was slipping, face-first towards the ground, the next, someone's arms had caught her by the shoulder, pulling her upright.

"You okay, darling?" A man in tight leather pants and white shirt asked.

Sher froze, her eyes widening at the face staring at her.

She had memorized that jawline, the lazy drawl, and especially the luscious dark hair.

"Excuse me?" she stuttered at him.

It caught his attention and he smiled, "You a groupie then, love?"

"You look just like him..."

"Ah, yes, I get that a lot actually. Interesting how a few eyeliner strokes can change a person."

"You _sound_ just like him,"

"He had a softer lull, actually. I could never perfect it, and boy did I try, but good ears sweetheart. And you never did answer me,"

It took a sharp nudge from a concerned Laia to bring her back to Earth.

Sher knew it wasn't uncommon for people to dress like Freddie Mercury.

And they were standing outside a Queen-exclusive rave after all, but the similarities bothered Sher. It was too uncanny. She tried to shrug it off as the side effects of a drunken state of mind.

"Oh, no. I wish I was a groupie," she sighed finally, "because then, I'd at least get to see them live. Instead, all I get are these raves. Do you know, they had the audacity to remix Bohemian Rhapsody earlier?"

"Well, it is a shame when fans are born after their artists' time. All the missed opportunities do weigh one down considerably."

"It does," Sher nodded grimly, "and frankly? The band is kinda old now. I know Brian and Roger are still the same person and everything, but it's also different, you know? It feels like a completely different band sometimes."

"Ah, but darling, they are still the same person, they've just evolved. Even you are continuously changing by the second. There is no single, distinct version of you. All of the yous throughout the years make one you." He winked.

Sher blinked at him and then at Laia, whose brows were raised.

"Alright, sir. I'll be having what you're having," Sher said.

He chuckled, but his eyes twinkled as he said, "But ah, wouldn't it be grand to live in the 70s!"

"Yes. Even just for a day, I'll take it," she sighed, "but wishful thinking has never gotten me anywhere, so might as well go home and call it a day."

"I disagree. I think wishful thinking does work if you're talking to the right person," he winked and uttered the softest, "sleep tight dears," before walking away.

"I like him," Laia whispered her approval, "you got his number?"

Sher just laughed and looped her arms around her best friend's as they waited for their Uber, "I like him too."

The night got pretty blurry after that. They got another drink at another bar, before finally Uber-ing their way home. Some crazy dancing to Bowie might have occurred, but eventually, the two girls found themselves under Sher's heavy duvet, exhausted but quite content with the sufferings they'd endure.

Completely unaware of the deal they just made.

—————————— 

Sher was woken up by a distant ringing of bell. She jerked awake, and found herself covered in swaths of blue linen.

Except she didn't own a single blue linen.

As she sat up in the bed, she spotted her friend-- mouth open, cheeks smushed into her pillow. She nudged at her to wake up, and yawned herself in the process.

"Oi, where the fuck did we end up last night?" She shook her friend again, the ringing in her head now slowing to a low throb. Here comes the hangover, she thought grimly.

After zero response, Sher chose to play dirty and went to tickle Laia's waist.

Within seconds, Laia rushed into an upright position, her arms out in a karate pose, eyes frantically scanning the room. The sight made Sher burst into a loud snort.

Laia grunted when she spotted Sher, panic fading away into easy annoyance. "Ah, thought I slept with some stranger again. Unfortunately, it's only you, and wherever the hell this is," She stretched and strode to the window.

In one move, Laia pulled the heavy silk curtain open. And froze at the sight.

Rain, heavy and gloomy, poured outside. And beyond the curtain of grey, ancient buildings rose to frame the street across them into a low-hanging skyline. Brick walls painted in a creamy sepia shrouded the lonely street across their window.

"Okay," Laia whispered, "what the fuck?"

With shaking knees, Sher strode to the window.

"No, seriously," Sher breathed, "where the fuck are we?"

"Mississauga?"

"Mississauga is hours away, how did we Uber to a different city without realizing—?"

"York, maybe-" She stopped, "Oh. That's weird."

At the dread in her tone, Sher glanced at the streets. They both saw it at the same time. A glaringly red, double-deck bus.

It sped through the quiet street in a hurry that only late traffic could muster.

"Is that-" Laia hissed.

"No fucking way-"

"We couldn't have-"

Sher didn't let her finish as she ran outside the room, flew down the set of stairs, glanced at the lobby of the _hotel_ they were in, and landed outside.

Instantly, cold rainwater prickled her exposed skin, but shock pierced its claws on her before she could further react.

She laughed. She'd had the dream fifty times now. It was ridiculous that it's anything but—

"Sher, are we in fucking _London_?" Laia shouted from the hotel entrance, arms wrapped around her chest.

It was the sight of her best friend's whitening knuckles that pulled her back.

Because, one, Laia was never in her dreams.

And two, she never had to convince herself she was dreaming before. That was not how dreams work.

Sher strode inside in a haze, her black crop top dripping water on her bare abdomen.

The hair on her arms rose— from the cold or something else, she didn't know. Or cared. All she saw was Laia, as panic bloomed in her caving chest. So Sher did what she always had all those four years they shared in university. She held Laia by the shoulders firmly and said, "I'll fix this. I always have, and now's no different, okay?"

Laia's lip trembled but she nodded and took a deep breath to compose herself.

Sher strode to lobby and asked the skinny man on desk, "Can I get the name of the person who booked our room?"

"Which room was it, madam?" The man's accent was unmistakably British. Another nail on their coffin of truth.

"Uh-" Sher mumbled, but Laia answered for her, "39."

"Ah, that is under the name Mercury, madams," the man forced a smile that did nothing to mask his obvious curiosity at the sight of them.

"And the date of stay?" Sher asked.

"It'll be a month, miss."

Sher nodded before pulling a shellshocked Laia back to their room.

The room felt instantly smaller than it had before. As Sher swiftly strode into the bathroom, she heard Laia plop herself on the bed with a soft cry.

"What was the last thing you remember, from last night?" Sher yelled, pulling a towel from the shelves to dry her hair.

"Uh- we drank? A lot."

Thunder cracked and the skies crept under grey clouds.

"Does anything the lobby-man said strike a chord to you?" Sher was shivering still, but the warmth of the room helped immensely. And the cold woke her up, shook her brain into focus.

"No, there's no-" followed by a gasp so shrill it made Sher run into the room.

"What?"

She saw Laia pointing at a crisply folded newspaper by their door.

"Holy fuck, Sher," Laia said, fingers trembling as she picked up the newspaper and passed it to Sher, _"When are we?"_

Sher knew. Even before she read the paper, she knew exactly what the date would read. Gut feelings were insanely accurate even when your mind refused to acknowledge the logic.

Because there, in a soft print of black and white were the words, _23rd November 1975._

Sher didn't gasp or scream or pull her hair out. She only looked at the horror in Laia's face and sat still. The two of them were silent for what felt like hours, although it must've only been a minute.

"What did we do?" Laia finally whispered, her eyes shut.

Sher didn't say anything as she continued to stare at the newspaper.

"What the fuck did we do?" Laia repeated, shoulders trembling.

"I'll fix it, I will," Sher mumbled as she placed her warm towel around her friend's shaking shoulders, "I will."

—————————— 

The fur carpet, with its soft finger-like texture served as the poorest backbone to write on. Sher's pen kept piercing through paper to stain the beige fur black.

"What if we go to that same club and wait for that man?" Laia said in between her sewing. She had stumbled upon a mini sewing kit inside their bathroom and started sewing their blue linen into some indiscernible pattern and fit. It was a nervous tic Sher pretended to ignore.

"We don't have the money to fly home, and what if that club didn't even exist in the 70s?" Sher sighed and crossed that option, the pen stopping every two second to tear yet another hole.

"I fucking hate how dependent we are on the internet."

"Ugh, I don't even know how to read a map for fucks sake. This is the only situation that will ever require map-reading skills. so _naturally,_ we're here."

"Man, what if we can't go home? I don't want to die a boomer," Laia groaned too dramatically to be serious. Sher chuckled and knew it was the perfect opening and went for it.

"But I don't know, Laia. Is it really that bad?"

"What are you saying?" Laia's tone was clipped but her fingers didn't stop its motion, pulling and pushing needle through stubborn cloth.

"I don't know," Sher played with the fur carpet, not looking at her friend, "maybe the way out is through?"

"Don't you dare quote Looking for Alaska at me right now," Laia grunted.

"I was hoping you'd forget that."

"Unfortunately, my brain retains unnecessarily grungy quotes unironically."

"Yeah, yeah, but seriously. We're in the 70s, Laia. Fears of being stranded aside, I think we should live it up for a bit, no?"

Laia closed her eyes and took a deep breath, "I was afraid you're gonna say that."

"Hey," Sher whispered, clutching her friend's hand in hers, "I'm on your side. Always. It's just an idea— "

"I don't know. I just don't want us to get too comfortable. We don't know what's happening in our real world? Are we missing? Did we get wiped off from existence?"

"I can't answer any of that, but I do know that if this ends up being temporary and we spend our time here moping around in misery, we will never forgive ourselves."

"But what about going home?"

"Okay, how's this. Everyday, after our daily shenanigans, we'll meet up and continue figuring this out. No straying away, I promise," Sher hung her pinky in the air, "What do you say?"

Laia rolled her eyes pointedly but her fingers brushed the blue lints from her lap and— from the ashes of cut cloth— rose a stunning blue dress.

"You can take off that slimy top now," Laia tossed the dress to Sher's lap before breaking into a shaky grin, "and fine— you're right— let's live it up for the 70s, but after all this, we go home ."

Sher couldn't stop herself from jumping in excitement. She pulled Laia by her arm into a tight hug, "The seventies! Ahhh!"

Even Laia nodded, her own smile growing into a wide grin as she said, "this is so fucking insane."

The two started squealing as words faded into unintelligible shrieks of excitements. In an instance, the suffocating nightmare morphed into an adventure. Sometimes, a shift in mindset could separate a Midsommar scenario from Narnia, Sher mused.

"The golden era of rock and roll-" Sher squealed again as she pulled away from the hug, "and QUEEN-"

"Holy shit, and Bowie, Elton John, Blondie—" Laia gasped.

"Fucking hell— " Sher shook her head, "Promise me we'll go to as many concerts as possible—"

"And the fashion—"

"And Queen—"

"And groupies—" Laia laughed.

"And Roger fucking Taylor," Sher yelled into the room. Lightning struck, as if agreeing that yeah, _Roger Fucking Taylor_.

After shutting down talks of investing into Microsoft or Apple, the two spent the whole evening giggling and plotting while their ice cream dinner melted away in a forgotten haze.

They successfully stole the lobby magazines and stayed up through the night, discussing the validity of shoulder puffs and blue eyeshadows. Rain poured through it all, but they quickly tuned it out in the excitement that only youths beginning their grand adventures could do.

Because, for the first time in a long time, Sher knew she was in the right place at the right time.

And oh, how the world will change for her.


	2. groupie love

——————————

Sher blew puffs of cold air at the steaming sausage roll in her hands.

The early morning was grim and cold, so she held on to the warmth of the buttery, puff pastry.

Despite the gloomy weather, the sidewalk was bristling with people rushing to get to work. And that included the two of them.

In the couple of weeks since they'd found themselves stranded in 1975's London, Sher and Laia had scoured the streets of London endlessly for one thing. Work.

Their midnight adventures weren't cheap after all. And although they could stand the bad beers, the homemade clothes they called "couture" were starting to fall apart at the seams.

And Laia, being the sweetheart and multi-skilled superhuman she was, naturally got the first job she applied for.

As the two girls entered the local coffee shop, warm air brushed Sher's frozen cheeks and she sighed, rubbing her palms together.

"What is it today?" Laia asked as she put on her apron.

"Your best latte please, ma'am," Sher smiled sweetly at her.

When Laia slid the extra large cup across the counter five minutes later, Sher practically squealed and blew kisses at her.

Perks of having a barista best friend? Excellent coffee, free of charge.

"You ready?" Laia said as she set up the counter for her shift, "for tonight."

"Terrified," Sher muttered in between the heavenly sips, "what if we can't get backstage?"

"Then we'll have to seduce our way in," Laia winked and, at Sher's gasp, said, "what? Isn't it something _you'd_ do?"

"Exactly. I'm starting to rub off on you, aren't I?" Sher grinned before sighing, "But what if they're not the people I've made them out to be? They say not to meet your stars for a reason, no?"

Laia stared at Sher and shrugged, "then screw them. We'll go and stan a different band."

"Whoa," Sher raised her arms, "there's no need to do anything that drastic."

Laia smiled, "Seriously though. It'll be okay, I promise. You've got me, love."

"I know," Sher nodded and slipped the to-go sleeve on her cup.

"Now go, before the ladies at the store fires you."

Sher scrunched up her nose in distaste at her words, but let the excitement envelope her as she strode the two blocks to the make up store.

When she entered, the familiar purple-lipped lady perked up at her.

"Sher! Just in time!" She moved a young girl towards Sher and whispered through the frozen smile, "another goddamn blue shadow. Originality must've died with my generation."

Sher chuckled but led the girl into one of the chairs and began painting shades of blue on her eyes. She knew she was forever indebted to all the beauty gurus who'd turned her clumsy makeup skill into art over the years. And the art courses, of course, but mostly the beauty gurus. Because she'd found her hand steady and true as she swiped a blue cat-eye on the girl's eyelid.

And around her, the make up store bustled with loud chatter and clinking heels. But Sher's mind was a mess of scenarios and hypothetical conversations as she daydreamed only of one thing, Queen. 

——————————

"You take left, I take right. We meet up in ten minutes," Laia said before the two of them broke apart to explore the temporary tent.

It had taken them two minutes to figure out how to sneak into the backstage area. Apparently, carrying boxes meant you belonged, because it worked like a charm.

Inside, Sher strode around the shabby tent in a childlike wonder.

In each corner, plastic tables held a variety of drinks and snacks, while roadies strutted around, carrying heavy machineries to the stage. But the sight that made Sher freeze was the Red Special, carried so casually by, ironically, a red-head roadie. He grinned at Sher but made his way to the stage before she could say anything.

Sher turned around and saw two girls entering the tent.

"Jean!" a tall roadie beside Sher shouted at one of them, "drinks after?"

"And have another sip of that nasty beer of yours?" the gorgeous brunette smirked, "we'll see."

Even under the poorly lit tent, her dark skin shone with a golden glow. Sher realized later on that it was glitter on her skin.

But as she watched the way everyone gazed at them, it hit her.

They were the _groupies._

And it did occur to her that groupies were pioneers of street fashion, but she never thought they'd have such differing and individualistic style.

The brunette brushed lint off her green, velvet dress and fishnet stocking, but beside her, the short blonde girl was in a floral dress and knee-high boots. Like day and night.

Sher adored them instantly, which was why, when her ten minutes were up, she dragged an equally starstruck Laia to meet them.

The brunette grinned when she saw them approach her.

"You ladies new?" She said with a thick, Manchester drawl, "I'm Jean, and this babe over here's Ariel."

"Sher," She shook her hand, "and _this_ babe here is Laia."

"Americans! Lovely!" Ariel smiled, before putting a fresh cigarette between her lips.

"Not exactly—" Laia said but before she could clarify, the four of them were swept into the makeshift bar by a group of roadies.

Despite the chattering and flirting around her, Sher had eyes and ears only for Jean. She practically fawned over the girl and her stories.

"Met Jimi thirty times one summer," Jean rubbed her eyes at the memory, "I went to every one of his London gigs. And he was the real thing too, a bloody genius."

"Did you..." Sher tried to ask without really asking, and Jean laughed.

"Oh no. He's not... my cup of tea," She winked slyly, but sobered up as she said, "but that's not really why me and Ariel are here. The wankers over at Southampton beg to differ, but we really do fuck with the music. Rock... it's rebellious and fresh."

"Southampton?" Laia asked, "Is that where you're off to after tonight?"

"Nah, there's this new punk band we're seeing in London tomorrow. Something to do with guns or—"

"Oi, it's pistols," Ariel shook her head and smiled at Sher and Laia, "Sex pistols."

"Ah right. That one. If you girls wanna stick around, we can get you into the groupie circle," Jean shrugged, "meet some record producers or get you in touch with the underground bands. We're actually pretty great at getting ourselves known around this industry, aren't we Ariel?"

"Actually, I think we're going to stick with this band for a bit," Sher said quickly.

Jean raised her brows, "You don't wanna be a groupie? then why are you... What do you want?"

"Uh, nothing?" Sher looked to Laia for help but found her equally confused.

"Huh," Jean tilted her head to the side, "I don't buy it."

Ariel rolled her eyes, "Jean here thinks there's only two reasons you'd ever socialize with a groupie. Sex or connections."

"It's true, innit? If they don't need us, they usually despise us," Jean chuckled bitterly, "everywhere in the world they hate groupies."

Ariel sighed, "Yeah, but not everyone's an arse. But I don't get why most of them are, either. How's it any different than their pompous courtships? Besides, we're not hurting anyone? Let us have our fun, Christ."

Laia frowned, "Some people never learned how to mind their business. And, for the record, I think you girls are badasses."

Sher nodded, " _the_ baddest."

At that Jean finally broke into a wide smile and raised her drink in the air, "then here's to you, good-hearted American girls, and the remaining good people in this world."

"And to the wicked night we're about to have!" Ariel cheered.

Sher and Laia shrugged away the mislabel with a conspirator laugh and downed their beers in one go.

The evening became a soft, easy blur after that. The four of them set themselves up as shabby bartenders as roadies crowded around their makeshift bar like ants. They laughed and shook their heads at the ridiculous drink requests, one of which involved sprinkling chips on a shot of clear vodka.

Grinning youths strolled around in bell-bottomed jeans and permed hair. Everywhere she turned, Sher caught another coloured, funky-patterned shirt. Her own glittering crop top and leather pants were quite ahead of their time, she knew, but in the midst of the dimly lit tent, it didn't matter.

She was giggling with Laia when the red-head roadie from earlier came up to them.

His black sweatshirt was pulled to his elbows, revealing an array of tattoos swirling around his sleeves.

"Let me guess, vodka on ice?" Laia raised her brow in challenge.

"You're awfully off," he shook his head in mock disappointment, "soda on ice."

"Really? Well, you're sadly out of luck. We don't have soda or ice. But!—" Laia turned around to grab beers from the cooler, "—we've got a variety of these awful beers."

The man's grey eyes widened, "whoa, is that— no bloody way— what's that say on your back?"

Laia twirled around to reveal the quote she'd sewed meticulously on her denim jacket. "All that is gold does not glitter? Do you know it? It's from—"

"Tolkien," he finished, the cool facade instantly replaced by a starstruck grin, "Who are yo— I mean— what are you doing here?"

"Off to a rock concert," Laia raised her brow, but a faint, amused smile grazed her face.

"What a coincidence, so am I," He crossed his arms and asked, "Would you wanna drop the gig for a drink backstage?"

"I don't even know your name, sir," Laia said, even as she squeezed Sher's hand under the table. Sher stifled her grin and squeezed back. It was their signal for, hell yes, go get him.

"Ezra," he bowed dramatically, which earned him a chuckle from Laia.

"Laia."

"Well, Laia, I can't promise excellent beers or outdo a rock gig, but stick with me and I promise you won't be bored. Ever," he grinned, "What do you say?"

"Alright," Laia smiled finally, "I don't see why the hell not."

Sher, however, was still unconvinced, which was why she asked in an unnecessarily stern tone, "And what do you do, Ezra?"

"I'm the roadie for the ever obnoxious drummer of Queen."

It was a testament to her skills in poker that Sher didn't react at all.

Even as Laia choked on her drink. Instead, Sher nodded nonchalantly and pointed to the set of drumsticks he was holding, "and that, is that for this drummer you speak of?"

"Yeah, I'm supposed to be bringing it to him—"

"Why don't you let her do that," Laia smiled sweetly, "so you can, uh, stay around here and chat for a bit?"

He narrowed his eyes at the two of them but shrugged as he said, "Sure, but just so you know, I'm aware of what you girls are doing. But I'll pretend not to see it, because I can't bloody stand the dimwit anyway."

——————————

After giving Sher the directions to the dressing room, Ezra propped himself on the table to _gawk_ at Laia. Sher shook her head in disbelief as the two fell into easy conversation on hobbits and fantasy tropes. Book-nerds. In a rock concert. 

But Sher quickly realized he was much, much better than most of the guys Laia had been with.

Her best friend was one of the rare gems who gave _everyone_ a chance. Unfortunately, this meant she often drowned herself around the wrong crowd. Sher almost lost her once, in first year, when she spiralled away from her. But hearing their conversation, Sher realized Ezra was already miles better than most of them.

Although the part about him being an english major did make both Laia and Sher groan.

Sher took one last glance at them before leaving the tent.

Cold wind brushed her skin and she cursed, not for the first time, for wearing another goddamn crop top in London. Above her, the evening stars winked their presence into the ever darkening blue sky.

Sher was about to strategize all the different ways to present herself in front of her heroes when she heard two voices screeching at each other like bleating sheeps.

She laughed and realized she'd be alright.

So Sher inhaled, held the drumsticks tightly and reached for the doorknob.

But the doorknob was already turning.

And out from the bright room, strolled Roger Taylor himself, nursing a can of beer in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other. He was also, more importantly, sporting a fluffy, white robe.

It was a testament to her superb acting skills that stopped Sher from squealing.

Or fainting.

He stopped at the sight of her, his blue eyes scanning her face almost in amusement.

"Well, look who the storm dragged out of the comic books. Catwoman herself," he grinned softly until his eyes caught the drumsticks in her hands, "that for me, cat?"

"Depends," Sher cleared her throat, "Are you the obnoxious drummer from Queen?"

He gasped, "That rotter! Is that what he's telling everyone?" he turned around and shouted into the room, "God, Fred! I told you Ezra was up to something! I wanna exchange roadies! Or I'm leaving the band."

"You say that every night, Rog," came the softest reply and Sher realized it was Brian May.

"Oh piss off," Roger turned to her and his anger dissolved as he said, "now quick, where you off to?"

"The tent, why—"

"Where's my white robe gone—" a voice roared but Roger slammed the door before Sher could hear the rest of it. He smiled cheekily at her and put his finger to his lips, "A secret."

"Is that Fre— your lead singer?" Sher gaped.

"Yes yes," he grinned, "No time to explain. Lead me towards your secret hideout, cat," he placed his arms around her shoulder casually, the can of beer cold against her shoulder. But Sher wasn't going to make it that easy for him. Of course not.

So she pulled his hands off her shoulder and said, "No way. I won't be responsible for breaking up the band."

He frowned but reached to twirl a strand of her hair, "Will you stick around, then? After the gig?"

"Depends on how great you play."

At that, he grinned, leaning back against the door as he puffed the cigarette, "Ah in that case, I _will_ see you after the gig."

Sher rolled her eyes. Unbelievable. The ego on that man was unbelievable.

But still, she had to resist a smile as she said, " _If_ you can find me."

His grin grew mischievous and he opened his lips to say something but Sher quickly stole the beer from his hands and sashayed away.

Halfway to the tent she heard him shout, "Wait, what's your name?"

But Sher kept walking, grinning her way into the tent. All the while, she cursed herself for choosing an absolute ass as her crush. Even as she realized she'd totally fall in love with the bastard anyway.

——————————

Fifteen minutes before the show, the tent only grew rowdier as more people found their way inside.

And Sher was so busy chatting and drinking, she didn't realize that the sudden breath of cold air came from the four men entering the tent.

It took a nudge from Laia for her to notice them.

And when she did, it took everything not to gape at the casual sight of them.

Freddie, with his shoulder-length hair and his glittering white unitard, was giggling at something Roger said. The two of them never looked as troublesome as they did when paired with each other. Behind them, Brian May ducked as he entered the too-low entrance, his curly hair painting him not unlike a tall tree. The last to show, John Deacon, smiled softly at everyone as he pulled his coat tighter around him.

It was like witnessing a historical scene coming to life.

Then Sher saw Roger's eyes scan around the room until it fell on her and he grinned. His beaded jacket was left unbuttoned and someone had straightened the blonde curls from his hair. But before he could stray towards her, Brian's hand pulled at his shoulder and Roger was shoved towards the stage. Sher could see a split second of his angry brows and clenched fists before he disappeared into stage.

Sher snorted, wishing he'd come by to say hello, but it was alright.

She knew they had the whole night, and then some more.

——————————

_🎧 groupie love by lana del rey 🎧_

And time flew like it was quicksand.

As the night blurred past them, Laia and Sher found themselves sitting underneath the wobbly table.

Around them, empty beer cans lie accusingly, but the two were cruising high on the lightness of being tipsy drunk. The tent itself was buzzing with movement and chatter as more people strolled inside.

When Sher sang to the final beats of Jailhouse Rock with Laia, she swore the ground itself shook under them.

Then Ezra swooped in to steal a giggling Laia into the crowd.

But Sher didn't mind. From under the table, the view was phenomenal. She watched in wonder as people danced around each other effortlessly, as if the night wasn't a mortal thing you lose, but a thing you could conquer.

And it was in that soft haze of drunkenness and euphoria that she heard a voice calling out to her.

"Found you," Roger said as he ducked under the table. His skin was slick with sweat, his eyes unfocused.

He took one look at her, before crawling closer and plopping his head on her lap. Then his eyes fluttered close.

Sher could only gape at the red-faced rockstar already fast-asleep on her thighs.

And as his chest rose and fell in a steady beat, Sher sighed and let the man rest, even if it was the last thing she wanted of him.

But out of boredom, she moved the sweaty pieces of hair away from his face. Her eyes continued to trail around the growing crowd outside, even as her fingers nimbly crisscrossed his hair into tiny braids. She didn't realize he was awake until she glanced back and found him grinning at her.

"Oh, he wakes after all."

"What have you done to me," he rose from her lap and felt around for the braids, "you've turned me into a doll."

"For the record, it's super pretty."

"Are you calling me pretty?" he grinned as he sat up beside her groggily.

"I was referring to the braids."

She saw him glance around at the empty cans, which reminded Sher to reach for the cooler.

"Where are you crawling off to now?" he muttered through a yawn.

"Wait," Sher grinned and grabbed the final can of beer, before throwing it into his hands, "I still owed you one, didn't I?"

"You sure you don't want this one too?" He raised his brow.

"Hey!" Sher said, "I can most definitely handle my liquor. I'm a university student, sir, it's in the culture."

"Where the hell is Roger?" a voice boomed, startling the both of them.

Roger put his finger to his lips and whispered, "Hush, cat."

"What's wrong?" She asked.

"They can't leave me alone for two minutes. It's the after party folks."

"Well then, what are we waiting for?" she started to rise but stopped at the look on his face, "What?"

"You're not serious? You're kinda pissed, no bloody way you're gonna go to an after party?"

"Watch me," she said and ducked out of the table. And she almost cringed when the bright light hit her eyes, but smoothly she offered her hand to him.

A second later, she felt his warm hand grip hers as he pulled himself out with a wicked grin, "Don't come complaining to me when your head feels like it's been split open tomorrow."

Sher laughed, "Been there, done that, willing to do it again."

The crowd instantly roared at his appearance, as if he was the thing stopping the party from happening. He probably was.

But Roger raised his hands with an easy laugh before pulling her to him. His hands never left her waist as they were swallowed by the group roaring of bars and drinks.

"... not until the sun rises," someone was shouting.

Drinks were thrown into the air, strangers pairing up as they squeezed themselves into the many cars outside. Sher couldn't help but smile as she felt the excitement like it was a living thing, an experience shared only by those lucky enough to be in that tent. 

"What do you think?" Roger raised both brows and sported a cheeky grin. Sher noticed the dimple on his right cheek and felt the overwhelming urge to kiss it.

"Of what?" she shouted over the crowd. The buzz was electric, Sher could taste it in the air. The youthfulness of night never felt more apparent.

"You just entered the mayhem of rock and roll. I'm afraid you're never getting out, at least not willingly."

"Ah, I'll see about that. I have massive self-control, you see," she lied.

"Not if I can help it," he whispered into her ears, and suddenly Sher was flustered.

Even in the dim tent, she could see the blueness of his eyes and it struck her again who she was talking to. The easy smile, the soft blonde hair, the way he put his arms around her, the high-pitched voice that was slightly slurred with alcohol.

"You're so pretty, Roger," She let slip into his ear and watched as his lips pulled into a shy smile.

"And you're extremely handsome, cat," he nodded seriously, which only made Sher snort loudly. 

A group of people ushered them into someone's car. Sher didn't know who was there or where they were going.

But she was aware of the cramped space and how Roger pulled her to his lap with a graceful ease. Rock music blared out of the radio and into the night as they pulled down all the windows.

And at some point, Sher leaped out of Roger's lap to stick her head out. She heard him laugh but not the words that followed because her eyes quickly took in the quiet road. It must've been no later than 2am but the world was thrumming with a fire it never had.

Maybe it was the breeze running through her hair or maybe it was the beautiful blur of alcohol. Or maybe it was the pretty man who had his hands wrapped tightly around her waist, holding her from falling out as Sher laughed into the night.

Whatever it was, she knew he was right.

She'd never leave.


	3. the night comes down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the title has so fittingly stated, the night comes down.  
> Expect angst, hard decisions, and more of that time-travelling fun.

——————————

The rest of the night came back to Sher only in flashes, and she suspected she was remembering things out of order. At one point, they'd lost Laia in a gas station. They'd driven back to find her giggling near the ice machine with an equally drunk Ezra.

And they'd all driven somewhere and somehow found a sofa to crash in. The last thing she remembered was resting her head on Laia's lap.

But unlike her peaceful drowse into sleep, a pillow slam was her morning call.

Sher woke up with a start and saw Laia smirk from across the couch. Sunlight poured through elegant grey curtains and into the living room of a... hotel? She couldn't tell. It looked like one of those suites with its private kitchen and living room.

"Morning?" Sher groaned the question and spotted a few other girls and guys in their shared space. Some were snoring, but all still fast asleep.

"Unfortunately, yes," Laia put a cup of coffee in Sher's palm.

"Where were you last night, princess?" Sher asked.

"A certain nerd caught my attention. Besides, I've grown bored of sharing your bed. I think we both needed the space."

Sher threw the same pillow back at her friend, "Traitor."

"Excuse me? You're the one who left me at a gas station ma'am," she said before the both of them fell into laughter. Sher shook her head and realized she didn't remember much of what happened after that.

"Did I do anything scandalous?" Sher wiggled her brows, "with _him_?"

For a split second, Sher saw pain flash in her eyes but Laia shook her head and said,"You passed out, girly. He told everyone not to touch the drunk cat, which I guess meant you," at Sher's raised brows she shrugged, "don't ask, I wouldn't know."

"Did _you_ two?"

"Nah, remember the gas station? Ezra and I spent our stranded hours just... talking, under the stars," Laia smiled as if she couldn't believe it, "and he's pretty sweet actually."

"Pretty sweet? Aww," Sher teased.

"Alright, maybe better than—"

The door slammed open, and both Sher and Laia forgot their conversation as they froze at the sight that greeted them.

In his white shirt and bell-bottomed jeans was the rock God himself.

"Morning darlings, are you the only ones awake in this— _oh_ what is that _funky_ smell?"

Freddie Mercury walked over the sleeping bodies to crack open all the windows, "Much, much better."

He strolled to their couch and put himself between the two girls.

Sher and Laia were both too starstruck to say anything so they just gaped at each other.

"Now, lovies, while we wait for our marvellous drummer to wake, tell me. What do you do when you're not fucking Queen?" he grinned, but the softness in his eyes was anything but mocking.

"I make coffee," Laia half-bowed at last from her side of the couch, "it's _so_ demanding but I do it for the glamour."

Sher laughed, "and _I_ make faces prettier. It's no rock and roll or, God, coffee-making, but I'm pretty good at it," she shrugged through a yawn.

That seemed to pique his interest, "Are you really? Make up hmm? what's that like?"

"Like painting on a human canvas," Sher softened at his honest curiosity, "I get to paint blue shadows almost on a daily basis, though, but the liner wings I can do with my eyes closed at this point."

"Oh you _must_ teach me," he said as he pulled a cigarette from his pocket.

"Now?"

"Yes, come on. What else do you have to do? Not Roger, I hope," He rolled his eyes and it was the sass that almost made Sher break. The wit and humour, the _life_ brimming off him. Sher's heart warmed. But her mind spiralled to the future, to the inevitable.

"Anything for you Freddie." 

Tears were starting to prickle her eyes so she quickly got up, hiding the sniffles and painful lodge in her throat. From the other side of the couch, Laia gave her a warning look and Sher knew she needed to pull herself together.

"You think you can draw on my liners and shadows for the shows too? They never come out the way I want them to. _Always_ so terrible," he spoke with the cigarette now lit between his lips.

Sher was about to search everyone's pockets for eyeliners or eyeshadows for the man, but the main bedroom door creaked opened.

And out came Roger Taylor in his white shorts. His long hair was disastrously tangled but Sher could still spot the messy braids she'd crafted the night before.

And he looked exceptionally cool— until he staggered straight into a wall. Sher stifled her laughter when he cursed softly and very, very, slowly made his way to the kitchen counter, eyes still partly closed.

Sher was about to tease the sleeping beauty when her eyes caught the rustle of movements from inside the room.

If feelings were musical instruments, the crack of Sher's heart was the snap of guitar strings.

A familiar, gorgeous blonde strolled out of his room.

Snap. Ariel yawned prettily.

Snap. She waved at Laia.

Snap, the final string screamed before the guitar crashed as it fell. Wood splintered and Sher should pick up the mess, but she only watched.

Seconds stretched into infinity until she finally glanced back— and found sympathy in Freddie's eyes. She felt a whole range of emotions flip through her.

Most of all though, it was unbearably _embarrassing_. Sher forced a smile and said, "It'll be an honour to work with you, Freddie, but clearly this life isn't for me."

"You'd be surprised how many roadies have said that to me," He said softly as he scratched an address and date on a piece of paper and handed it to Sher, "I still think you should give it a thought, alright?"

Sher nodded absentmindedly. It should've made her ecstatic, but all she felt was a numbing betrayal.

And the worst part? it wasn't anybody's fault but hers. For Sher to think she was _enough_ for a rockstar. 

Laia must've seen through it all, because she instantly excused the two of them.

And it was Laia's gentle but strong arms that held her through the few quiet steps out of the room.

Sher stopped by the door, took one last glance at the world she could've had, then left without another look back.

——————————

"I still think you should give it a chance," Laia muttered as she leaned against the wall.

Sher groaned, even as her hands continued cleaning make up brushes. Weekends were always hectic, with all the girls coming in with their weekend plans.

"This isn't you, love. I'm seriously worried you're going to bite my head off in the future for not telling you this," Laia said.

"No, I told you, I don't do regrets. It's a waste of time."

"But you _will_ regret it. Think, Sher. Touring with your favourite band? Doing Freddie's make up? This is your dream."

"Is this because you like that Ezra guy? I can hear you giggling at that ancient phone-booth every night, you know."

Laia sighed, "I don't giggle. And stop changing the topic."

"What? You want me to talk about the asshole who isn't really an asshole?" Sher tossed the brushes into a bowl of warm water.

"Hey, come on. I've been on the anti-RT train since that morning. It's _okay_ to hate him. Only a psychopath wouldn't be hurt by what he did, my love."

"But that's the thing though! There is _no_ anti-RT train. He didn't owe me shit, you know? It was a fun night, but there were no promises. He's an adult, and so am I. We're free to fuck whoever we want."

"But he's also just a man," Laia said gently, "I don't think you should sacrifice this grand opportunity for a man, no matter how perfect or cool he is. And besides, we don't know how long we'll be here, Sher. If this is it and we are stuck forever, we could use the boost. It's still a new era of working girls. We'll need all the help we can get."

"You can't logic me into this right now. No fair," Sher groaned.

"I know, and I hate that I have to say it. If it were up to me, we'd get ice cream and burn posters of that asshole. But Freddie's offer changes everything." Laia said, but at the silence that greeted her she sighed.

"I'm sorry."

"No, don't be. Listen, it's your choice girly. And—" Laia firmly nodded— " if you really don't care for it, then it's fine. We'll be fine. We're two stubbornly resilient girls. We'll be okay."

Sher pulled her into a tight hug, "I really do love you, you know that? You're like... the Gimli to my Legolas or something."

"Excuse me? Why am _I_ Gimli?"

Sher laughed and kissed her cheek, "alright, I'll humbly be the Gimli to your Legolas. And I'll think about what you said."

"And that's enough for me."

——————————

Cold wind brushed Sher's face as she pushed the heavy back door open. She grunted as she carried the trash and dropped it into the massive pile.

"Why, that's no fun at all," a soft breathy voice called out of the night. Sher whipped her head at the source.

A stunning girl stood, leaning by the door.

It wasn't the iconic white dress, or the platinum blonde hair that struck Sher first. No, it was the superstar mole resting between her lips and nose that, strangely enough, was the defining character of the movie star before her.

"Oh my God," Sher whispered.

"Oh no honey, it's only _me_ ," Marilyn Monroe's red lips smoothed into the sweetheart celebrity smile she'd pulled on many, many movies.

"What?"

"How do you like it here? The 70s can be such a bore and I, personally, rather prefer the 50s," Her words were drawled into the breathy, all-American lull.

It took Sher another second to get it, and when she did, Sher shoved Marilyn Monroe against the wall and pinned her there.

"Who are you?" She shouted, " _What_ are you?"

Not-Marilyn didn't betray a single emotion of fear, instead she rolled her eyes, "Hmmm, that's a rather complex answer."

"Take us back."

Her face scrunched up in disappointment, "So soon? I thought you had more spirit than that, truly."

"What do you mean?"

"Honey, if you'll just let me breathe we can talk like sweet humans? I'm here to help you, you know," She smiled too sweetly, making her seem anything but honest.

Sher glared but released her hold, "Then why did you send us here?"

"Ah, if I recall, it was _you_ who desperately wanted to visit the 70s?" Her brows hitched but it only made her seem more sly.

"So what now? We can't leave?"

"Of course you can," she tapped Sher's cheeks with nimble fingers, "but you don't have to choose now."

"Can you be more specific?" Sher breathed impatiently, her head already pounding.

"As of now, you don't have to choose. You can stay and nothing will change. But, the next time I make a visit, you must decide. For history _might_ shift accordingly."

"Okay, first of all, why the hell would I want to stay?"

"Oh, _I_ wouldn't know. I have no control over you, honey. I just shake the dice, but you two decide which side it falls on."

"You're insane to think I'd stay and leave—" Sher gasped, "— Wait! What happened to us in the future? Are we dead?"

"No, silly, of course not! Time has remained still to contain the two of you here. So don't worry sugar, no one will find you missing or anything."

"That's the most vague shit you could ever say."

Fake Marilyn frowned, "It's difficult to explain when you don't understand the concept behind it."

"Aight... And if, by some miracle I choose to stay, what happens then?"

"That's— uh— a discussion we shall have later. It's of no use now, especially since you're so sure of your decision," she tapped Sher's nose again and grinned, but there was an unreadable expression that hid behind the gesture. It made the hairs on Sher's arms rise. This was no game. It was their lives, on stake.

"Will the—," Sher paused to rephrase, "you said history _might_ change. Can we actually truly change the future?"

Fake Marilyn's eyes glimmered, "Ah, you're a smart cookie, aren't you? I unfortunately can't answer that."

"Why not?"

"Because the stability of this timeline rests on that concept remaining hypothetical. The moment I confirm or deny its truth, the timeline shatters and this world falls into chaos. And we can't have that, can we?" she _giggled._

Sher gulped. That was one way to shut her up.

"So, just to get this straight, as of now, we can roam freely with no consequences, but the next time you come visit us, if we choose to stay—"

"Then certain.... things will happen. None of which I can deny nor confirm."

"Huh." Sher tilted her head to the side.

"So what do you say? Wanna give this era another try? Or are you in such hurry to go back to your... pathetic club raves?" She said, voice sweet as honeyed poison.

"I—" Sher stopped and thought of what Laia would say and chose her words carefully, "the hotel room, when are you going to pay for next month's rent?"

"There is no next month's rent."

"So we're not meant to stay there," Sher confirmed her suspicions.

Fake Marilyn's lips stretched into a grim line, "That's it. No more questions from you, hon."

"Then we stay. For now."

Fake Marilyn grinned and clasped her hands together, the act seeming so innocent yet conspiratorial, "Will you? Oh that is _so_ wonderful!"

"Yes, yes. And when will I see you next?"

"When you're ready."

"Of course," Sher rolled her eyes at the useless answer, "and, also— why Marilyn Monroe?"

"Because she's dead," She smiled wickedly before a purple mist gathered around her legs. It crept up and swallowed her.

In between one blink and another, Sher found herself standing alone in the quiet alleyway.

She crossed her arms and watched as the final drop of mist evaporated into the cool London night.


	4. we will rock you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's baby's first gig.  
> Sher contemplates the harsh realities of who Roger Taylor really is. She dives head first into the euphoria of witnessing a Queen show, and then the explosive after-parties. But, perhaps more importantly, she sees the tender, quiet moments that follow a fiery night with Queen, as she meets the other band members.

—————————— 

🎧 _we will rock you by queen_ 🎧

"I'm thinking dawn colours? Purple fading into soft blue for the lids," Sher pointed at the colours in her palette with her brush.

"I like it, but make it darker, darling, more _mysterious_ ," Freddie said and tapped his fingers on the sides of his chair impatiently. Above them, the shuffling of feet roared. The ceiling vibrating with anticipation.

The show was in fifteen minutes.

Sher only had _five_ minutes to do a full make up look.

Sweat trickled down her neck as she blended aggressively.

"I can't believe the address you gave me was _this_ concert. What if I missed it?" Sher muttered as her fingers moved nimbly around his gorgeous face.

"Then you'd miss Queen," he shrugged his shoulder but winked as he said, "I knew you'd do it, though."

"Well aren't you the gambler," Sher shook her head but couldn't help but smile.

She was on the final flick of his eyeliner wing when the door cracked open and Roger Taylor himself barged into the small dressing room, wearing nothing but his blue robe.

Sher swore under her breath. It had been a week since they'd last seen each other.

"Oh _of course_ he's doing his make up," Roger's high pitch broke the silence as he strode towards them.

Sher refused to turn around and acknowledge him out of sheer, self-respect, so she heard rather than saw his reaction.

"Why, it's Selina Kyle!" he gasped and— ever the child— started a drum solo on Freddie's back.

Sher sighed, trying desperately to remain professional and unbothered, "Yes, yes. Off you go now, we're on a time crunch."

"Exactly. I'm paying her for _every_ minute, you know," Freddie said, eyes still closed despite the interruption.

"I thought I lost you," Roger smiled and reached to fluff her hair. The act, so casual to him, made Sher positively melt into the floor.

The rational part in her tried to ignore him but Sher knew it was no use. She, after-all, had the self-control of a bagel. 

So she lifted a brow in amusement and said, "Ah, but you did, lose me. And haven't you heard? You can't afford me now."

Roger's grin only grew cheekier.

"Alright, Fred? Eight minutes until—" Brian May popped his head into the room and groaned when he saw the scene, " _Roger_ , for fucks sake, get out of your robe and put some clothes on."

Roger flipped Brian off but jogged out of the door, his long hair sashaying behind him.

Sher gulped. Five minutes before the show.

The second she finished the look, Freddie was practically carried into the stage by nervous roadies.

Sher squeezed herself out and into the narrow hallways, which by then held a crowd.

It was truly chaos.

A lot of swearing and running occurred everywhere, but the tension was simultaneous with the excitement.

Outside, the crowd was a buzz of loud chatter and cheers.

Two minutes.

Sher sipped on a bottle of beer and spotted her best friend behind the stage, no doubt admiring Ezra at work. The two had been inseparable since their reunion that morning— chuckling and whispering in each other's ears.

Sher let herself be carried by the crowd to Laia, and was immediately swallowed up in a bear hug.

"How was it?" Laia shouted over the crowd.

"Went pretty well I think? Don't know if he'll have me though."

"He will! Freddie looks _stunning_ ," she shouted in her ears.

"One minute," the roadie beside them roared at the stage.

The two of them grinned at each other in absolute excitement. They were going to have the best seat in the house. For free.

"Queen on stage, Queen on stage," another roadie shouted to the sound guys.

The hairs on her arm rose in anticipation. From behind the stage, the crowd was a sea of darkness.

"Five, four, three, two..."

Then, out of the darkness, light washed the stage a blinding white.

When her eyes adjusted, four individual outlines stood stark against the dark.

Like Gods out of a Greek myth.

And then, absolute fucking madness.

The earth itself must have moved as the crowd transformed into thunder and lightning, roaring back at the four guys in front of them. They grew and grew, the steady beat of distinct individuals quickly unifying into one unit, one voice.

_Queen, Queen, Queen, Queen,_ they chanted.

Sher knew exactly what the crowd felt.

For, in that brief moment, their lives were theirs again. No rowdy bosses or conniving rivals. In that moment, they've stolen back the microphones and made themselves the main characters of the story.

No longer bystanders, they were heroes.

And within the peak of that buzz, Brian struck his guitar and grinned, as the crowd flew into the air.

—————————— 

An hour later, while Brian had his glorious solo, the other three members rushed backstage. They had at most, five minutes to change and get back on stage.

Sher was entertaining the roadies by creating an original cocktail flavour when John Deacon himself jogged to their table.

"And what kind of ruckus is happening here?" his grin was friendly and warm.

"We're inventing an original, innovative drink," Sher bowed gracefully, which only made him chuckle.

"Well, what's it then?"

Sher drum-rolled the table's surface and said, "tequila and cornettos!"

"Cornettos on tequila?" he blanched and scratched his head adorably, "Or tequila on cornettos?"

Sher took the mini cornettos out of the freezer box and dropped them into the larger shot glasses. The gooey ice cream was already melting, turning the clear tequila into a creamy concoction.

"After you, sir," Sher grinned, "but of course, only if you dare."

"I dare, alright. But only if you'll down the next five shots of tequila with me."

Sher gasped, "Five! That's four too many!"

"Not if you have a show as big as this to do," he shifted his legs and Sher saw through the facade. 

The nerves of performing in front of hundreds of people must be one hell of a turn off. Sher gulped and made up her mind instantly.

"Oh, I'm so going to regret this," she handed him the cornetto-tequila abomination and watched John's eyes lit with grateful solidarity.

They downed the ridiculous drink in one go, both cringing at the disgusting flavour.

"That was... utterly hideous," he said as Sher wiped off the ice cream from both of their noses, chuckling through it all.

She set up the promised ten shots just as Roger and Freddie strutted by.

"A drinking party? Without us? What a heinous crime!" Freddie said.

Roger nodded aggressively at his side, "Let's beat them at their own game, Fred, come on."

Suddenly the four of them were vying for as many shot glasses as possible.

It was an utter mess.

Sher had three, Roger two, John four, and Freddie a measly one because he was outraced by everyone else. Freddie rolled his eyes theatrically and walked off to the stage, while John clucked his tongue at his friends.

Sher on the other hand, was very much feeling the warmth of alcohol in her belly and was ready to call it a night.

And since their five minutes were up, she shooed both Roger and John off.

"Only took a day for her to get sick of us, John," Roger sighed dramatically to John.

"An hour," Sher corrected him.

"Will I see you after, cool cat?" Roger said suddenly, from across the table. Sher immediately fell off the high.

And John must've seen it too, because he immediately shoved Roger towards the stage.

"Brian is going to off you if you don't go up there now," John grunted, and then rolled his eyes at Roger's deep frown.

Thanks, Sher mouthed when Roger left.

John shook his head, "He's very bright, but sometimes, it's like he can't read a situation. You alright?"

"Yeah, long story," she crinkled her nose.

John raised his brows but was rushed up the stage before he could utter the question burning in his eyes. _Let him wonder_ , Sher thought and exhaled. She'd had enough wild cards for one night.

But when she found Laia, her best friend had an entirely different plan.

"Must we really?" Sher groaned before slipping inside Ezra's car.

"It's going to be a small after party," Laia pulled her puppy-eyes, "pretty please?"

Seeing her best friend so excited and happy made Sher shake her head and smile, "alright dumbass. But you owe me one."

—————————— 

The after party, however, was anything but small.

The suite was emptied off furnitures so it could pack the maximum amount of people. Sher had to push through the tightly packed crowd to get to the makeshift bar. She grabbed a beer and realized she'd lost both Ezra and Laia.

_Fantastic,_ she rolled her eyes, realizing she needed to socialize. Sher was secretly hoping to leech off the two of them through the night.

That was why, when she realized that the floor-length windows were actually sliding doors that led outside, she grabbed a second bottle and slipped outside. The crowd at the balcony-like porch was tamer, especially because the night was a cold and sobering one.

The wind brushed her neck, the party music a low hum behind her and she breathed out a puff of cold air. Sher leaned against the glass railings and counted how many floors up she was. A measly twenty apparently. Not bad.

"They got to you too, huh?" A soft voice called out to her and Sher turned around to see John Deacon in a green sweater, sipping on a rainbow-coloured cocktail.

"Unfortunately," she sighed, "How's the party going for you?"

"Oh it's proper rubbish," he grimaced as a couple loudly smacked their lips beside them.

"Young love eh?" she chimed in, light sarcasm drenching each syllable.

"I know, we ought to get whatever they're having, maybe then we'll get half as lucky," He chuckled, before he tapped her arm, "Wait a second! You never did tell me your name. I know Rog dubbed you cat, but I thought I'd stick with one you prefer?"

Sher laughed, "For you John, it's Sher. I trust you won't divulge secrets to the common enemy?"

"My lips are sealed," he chugged the rest of his drink, "want anything from the bar, Sher?"

Sher had ignored it long enough.

Concern dripped her grim words as she said, "How many of those have you had?"

"Not you too," He said quietly before looking away from her and into the night. 

Silence stretched and stretched, but Sher couldn't let him escape the conversation. So, it was minutes later when he finally said, "I rather like the feeling, you know. I'm not trying to escape anything." But even as he said it, he closed his eyes, his hands clenching the glass.

"Oh I know," she touched her elbow to his gently, "Just wanna know how many drinks behind I am."

If she couldn't stop him, she could at least be there with him, make sure he was okay.

"Thirteen," he whispered so quietly, it might as well have been the wind.

"That's achievable. If there's anything university has taught me..." she tried to cheer him up, but they both knew it was a weak shot.

"Sher, what's your thing in life?" He said suddenly as he cocked his head to the side, his long hair moving with the wind, "What do you _want_?"

She contemplated the question. What _was_ her thing? It took her another minute, but she knew it was the truth, "I think I wanna make a difference. And be _known_ for that difference, as shallow as that sounds. But it's the truth. I'd hate to be lost in the billions of people and be... unknown."

"That's fair," John nodded grimly, "but what are you doing here, with us? It's quite an odd detour."

"Who says I can't do both? I'm multidimensional, you know. What was it Whitman said... _I contain multitudes_ ," she knew it was a cop out answer to the real question he was asking. But she wasn't about to delve into her existential crisis just then, "What about you?"

At that he chuckled weakly, "No one's ever asked me that before. People just assume it's the band. But I don't know? I sometimes don't think it's for me. Rog, Bri and Fred— they'd do this even if it meant failure after failure— but I think I'm just here because it hasn't gone to shite yet. Because we're doing pretty good, but it terrifies me— what I would've done if we'd never sold a single record."

"You think you would've walked?"

"I don't know... besides, you reckon they actually need me? They could've found another bassist in a second."

"Nah," she shook her head, "I don't think so. I think the stars aligned for this version of Queen to exist. I genuinely believe that if it hadn't been for _you,_ John, the band would've fallen apart. You're just as important as the rest of them. And I wish you'd believe it."

He looked at her then, a genuine shy smile blossoming on his lips, "I think I rather like having you around, Sher. Beats having to deal with those three asshats all the time. You're touring with the band, right?"

"Depends on Freddie, really."

"Well, cheers to having you here tonight," he raised his drink to hers. And, as he threw it down his throat, Sher threw hers down the twenty floors.

That was how the night went. As he got drunker, Sher threw her drink more and more. One of them had to stay sober after all.

Then she'd left him for two minutes to get to the washroom and froze at the sight that greeted her. John Deacon, leaning against the unstable railing. Her heart must've stopped.

But Sher picked up her pace into a sprint. And she watched in a terrifying slow motion as he leaned further and further into the air.

And she would've made it, if she was just a second quicker.

But another hand grabbed his shirt before the unconceivable could happen.

"Oi, you're no bird, don't be thick," Roger's voice roared, a tinge of panic slipping into the words.

Sher released her breath, watching the puffs of air form into white clouds as Roger shook John by his shoulder.

"Might as well be," John said, pushing him away just as Sher reached him, "Ah lady luck, look what happened when you left."

"Lady--? Cat? you've been with this _nutter_ all night?" he narrowed his eyes before breaking into an odd look, "And here I thought you were too good for Queen."

"Hey, he's no nutter," She slapped Roger's shoulder, the turn of events leaving him speechless, "John, you alright?"

"I see the sky and it calls—" Whatever the sky called, they'd never know. Not as he puked his guts out, leaning against the railing.

"Holy shit," she winced, "Uh— maybe he needs to sleep?" she asked Roger.

"Fucking right. He's pissed off his arse," Roger pulled John's arms around his shoulder and gestured at her to do the same.

The two of them strode past the thrum of dancing bodies in the suite and into the empty hallway. The sudden silence was jarring, but with John slurring random words and Roger occasionally telling him to shut it, she quickly adjusted.

When they finally reached a much cleaner and quieter suite, Sher tucked the sleepy man into bed. She asked Roger to bring a glass of water, just in case he'd wake up with scratchy throat. Sher had always hated that part of a hangover.

Five minutes later, when he still didn't come back, she strode outside, "What could be taking forever?"

Outside, Roger was leaning against the small kitchen, pouring water over his hands and wincing. 

"What's wrong with you now?" She whispered coolly, not wanting to wake John.

"The blisters from the show," he grinned, as he waved his hands at her like it was a gruesome horror show, "Carrying the git must've reopened some of the wounds. But ah, the trials and tribulations of a hero."

Sher scoffed, before searching the washroom cabinets for a first aid kit. When she found them, she dropped them to the kitchen island and gestured at his hands, "Let me see," she grumbled.

"Aw, you _do_ care," he smiled smugly before placing his hands in hers.

The blisters were red and puffy, and she moved her fingers softly around them before drenching them in the alcohol solution.

"Ow, ow, ow!" he hissed at the pain, pulling his palms back like a grumpy child.

"Would you rather have an infection?" she rolled her eyes and took his left hand back to start wrapping bandages over it. As she worked, she felt his eyes trail over her.

"How do you know how to do that, cat?" he asked as his other hand softly twirled around her hair, picking the strands and pulling them away from her face. The brown strands contrasted softly against his pale fingers. Sher allowed him to do it only because she was preoccupied with the bandages. Or at least that's what she told herself.

"My best friend's a premed student. She likes to babble about first aid techniques, a lot," She said softly, but her focus was disrupted when Roger pulled her chin up to face him. She noticed how his sea-eyes glimmered with a million questions. But there was a softness in them that made Sher's heart warm. Until he pointed a finger accusingly at her.

"That's quite dodgy. What's a premed doing involved with a rock band?"

"What's an astrophysicist doing in a rock band?"

He chuckled, the sound thick like warm honey, "Fair enough. But why the make up?"

"I'm studying art and media but the answer to your question is too wild a story to tell. Even for you, Roger Taylor," She reached for his other hand.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he frowned, leaning against the kitchen counter now that he had no free hand to bother her with.

"Oh I'm sorry," she raised her brow, "I still vividly remember the night you ditched me. Must be fun when you have groupies trailing your every move huh?" She meant for her words to be a light jab, but it came out pretty brutal. Her pain must've been clear as day on her face because he had nothing to say. Instead, he was quiet for a long while, until she finally finished working on his hand.

"There. Off you go, pup," she tied the final bandage and looked up to find him still frowning, "What?"

"I—" he looked at the floor, one bandaged arm sliding under his shirt, "I didn't mean— you were pissed that night and I wasn't going to do anything with you being so drunk—"

"So you dropped me on the couch and slept with someone else?" Sher instantly regretted the words, knowing how insane she must've sounded. He still didn't owe her anything that night, not really. But Laia was right, too. Sher had the right to be upset.

But at the flustered expression on his face, Sher sighed. He was a rockstar. It was in his nature, wasn't it? And she won't fool herself into thinking otherwise, into imagining they could've been anything more than a fling.

"Forget it," Sher breathed, "I expected things you couldn't have given. My fault."

A shadow crossed his face, but like a gate closing, it faded into a cool neutral.

"Alright," he nodded, "then we're starting over."

At her confused look, he raised his bandaged hand towards hers and said, "I'm Roger, the _clearly_ obnoxious and sorry drummer from Queen."

And it was the honest, sincere way he looked at her that made Sher utter her next words.

"Sher, make up artist from Queen, when she's not busy changing the world," She revealed and saw his eyes widen.

"Sher," he sang back, "If all it takes to get your name is for John to get pissed, then we should've had this party days ago."

At that, Sher sobered up, pulling her lips into a grim line, "Not funny. I'm worried about him. What was he doing earlier? If you hadn't—" she looked at him and found the same concern mirrored back at her.

"I know," he leaned back and rubbed his face, "This bloody tour gets to everyone's nerves. Bri almost quit yesterday when his red special was hung the wrong way."

"Why don't you go home for a break?"

He chuckled bitterly, "Maybe once I find one."

Sher paused, not expecting the darkness that coiled around him as he said it.

And, as if regretting the words, Roger cleared his throat, "what else do you have in mind?"

Sher decided it wasn't her place to pry, so she said, "You guys need a break, a cozy night in or—"

At that he stood from the wall and practically jumped, "A party! Yes! What a brilliant idea, we _must_ have another party!"

"Oh no no no. I think that's the last thing—"

"What about Munich?"

"Seriously—"

"And we'll invite anyone and everyone! A party for the _people._ "

She sighed and shooed him off, "I refuse to play a part in this disastrous idea. Good night Roger."

"Wait, where are you going?"

"That couch over there looks super welcoming as of now. And I genuinely don't know if I'll find my room in this state."

"Well, _my—_ " before he could even suggest it, Sher plopped herself into the couch, and pretended to snore. She heard his soft laughter and the rustle of movements as he sat on the floor beside her couch.

"Cat," he poked her cheek with bandaged hands over and over until she groaned and opened her eyes, "Will I be seeing you around? For the tour?"

"Ask Freddie, oh my god! Why does everyone think it's _my_ decision if I continue working under _him_."

He raised his brows at her sudden outburst, but tapped her head clumsily, "alright, grumpy. Thanks for the bandages"

She hmm-ed and watched as he stood up and tried shoving his hands in his pockets before realizing they weren't going to fit.

After he'd turn off the lights and left, Sher stood up in a panic to switch on one of the lights.

Then she drowsed off to sleep, dreaming she'd just fallen down twenty floors, only to be caught in bandaged hands.


	5. it's late

“What if you seduce Brian as I slip into the room?” John pleaded as he slid his sunglasses on his face.

“I don’t even know him that well!” Sher said.

“Brilliant! It’ll be the perfect opportunity for you two to meet.”

“John,” she drawled, putting her hands on his shoulders to steady him, “just go in there and own it.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, “He’s going to murder me.”

John pushed the hotel door open and three pair of eyes instantly snapped to him. Sher watched the scene unfold from behind the safety of the hotel hallway.

“Oh look who’s fucking here! What took you _four hours,_ John?” Brian’s voice was low but deadly.

“Give it a rest, Brian, we all were up late last night.” Freddie said tightly from across the room.

Beside him, Roger stood by the coffee machine, biting his nails as he eyed the room. When he saw her enter behind John, his eyes widened and he shook his head slightly.

Sher realized she was intruding a band moment, but before she could make a quick exit, Freddie strode to her, “Sher! Thank God.”

“Hey! I’ll uh, leave, actually. I just came to drop John off.”

“Nonsense! We have to initiate our new royal,” he took a ruby red crown from the table and rested it on her head in one graceful move, “Welcome to Queen, Sher.”

Sher bowed cheekily to humour him, but the festivities didn’t last long. Not when John and Brian were still starring daggers at each other from across the room.

“As per tradition, your one wish will be granted,” Freddie continued as if the tension in that room wasn’t already boiling over, “Go on. Whatever you desire, darling.”

Whatever she desired? Her eyes instinctively rested on Roger. She saw an odd expression cross his face, but she didn’t know him well enough to know what it meant. He was a stranger, after all.

So Sher wrinkled her nose at Freddie, and said, “Honestly, Fred? I don’t need anything.”

“Oh stop with that repulsive modesty. Just say the word, Sher darling.”

She glanced around the room, and, strangely enough, found herself content, “Nah, I already have my wish, you beautiful human.”

“No, that won’t do.”

“ _Today,_ Fred,” Brian warned as he tapped his wrist watch.

Freddie rolled his eyes at him but sang, “ _Bibbidi bobbidi boo, a party I’ll throw for you._ ”

Sher protested instantly, but he sprinted past her and into the meeting room before she could say anything.

Then she spotted a flurry of yellow walking towards her and clucked her tongue.

“You should really go in there, you know.” Sher said to Roger.

“Morning to you too, cat,” he fluffed her hair, making Sher huff at the mess, “I’m getting the drinks for tonight’s party at my room. Fancy driving me to the store?”

“Hey!” she pulled his hand from her hair and narrowed her eyes, “I drove John here from the goodness of my heart. I’m no chauffeur.” 

“Aw, c’mon, I’ll share the best champagne with you on the way back. Pretty please?” He batted his surprisingly dark lashes at her, puckering his lips into a fake frown, “You can’t deny this face a wish.”

Sher put her hand on said face, “Tempting offer, but alas, I must refuse.”

“Why? What could possibly be more exciting than the chance to spend time with—”

From the meeting room, Brian’s voice roared, “Roger fucking Taylor—” before a thump muffled his next words. She wondered who'd thrown a book at him. 

“It’s girls’ night,” she winked, before pushing him towards the room, “Now go.”

But he caught her hand in his and asked, “What’s the verdict on party-crashers?”

“Deadly vodka shots,” she stuck her tongue out, “To be downed by said crashers in one go.”

“Sounds like a risk I’m willing—” before he could finish, a gruntled Brian May pulled Roger by the collar of his shirt.

“Sorry, you have to deal with this arsehat,” Brian said to Sher before the two of them disappeared into the room.

Sher saw a split second of Roger’s fury before the door was slammed close.

But she didn’t stick around to watch them argue. Instead, she drove to pick up the bags of chips and candies for the promised movie night. All the while, wondering how Laia would react to having Roger crash their night.

—————————— 

Except Laia never did stick around for movie night.

“It’s a midnight tour of the grandest library. It’s practically a celebration of fiction.” Laia’s eyes widened in excitement.

 _“Oh,”_ Sher frowned.

“It’s pretty epic,” Ezra nodded, “They’re going to open up the roof so we'll see a whole century’s worth of books under a sky full of stars.”

Sher scrunched up her nose, “you want me to third-wheel your date to the library? In this winter weather?”

“Is that a yes?” Laia asked.

Sher sighed and pulled Laia to the side, “listen babe, I really want you to live your best life, even if it means staring at books all night, but Laia,—” Sher bit her lips, “— I kinda wanna stay in tonight. Can’t you go with him tomorrow? I miss you. Feels like I haven’t talked to you since the show.”

Laia winced, “I know, my love. But it’s an annual event. It only happens tonight.”

Sher’s frown deepened. The whole thing seemed ridiculous to her, but it didn’t matter. If it was important to Laia, then it was important to Sher. Still, she couldn’t help but feel left behind.

Sher sighed and said, “alright. And no, I’m not going with you. So don’t try to persuade me, you little devil.”

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise,” Laia said.

Sher nodded defeatedly, “My life has gone boring, hasn’t it?”

“You? Boring?” Laia kissed the top of her head, “ _Never._ ”

Sher pulled Laia into a long hug, and whispered, “Promise you won’t stray away? I don’t know if I can last another day without you.”

“I promise, my rosebud.”

But after Laia and Ezra left, the room instantly felt smaller and quieter than it did before.

It reminded her, unfortunately, of home.

Sher brewed herself a cup of tea, not because she wanted one, but to hear the kettle whistle against the silence.

Even then, the dark thoughts coiled around her like a cloud of smoke. It threatened to choke her, and no matter how hard she tried to sleep, her mind only roamed deeper into the past.

Into the locked closet in her basement.

Sher rustled out of bed and dragged the thick duvet around her as she pulled the curtains open.

Moonlight, blue and serene flooded into the room.

Seeing the night sky dotted with stars helped her breathe better.

She tugged the duvet closer and sat on the floor, entranced by the night. It didn’t wash away the sadness, but it didn’t amplify it either.

She had thought living off the road meant never-ending parties and wild nights. She hadn’t expected the quiet moments. Or how utterly alone they’d make her feel.

But she took an odd comfort in knowing that the moon, in its eternal life, would watch over her, the way it did for billions other people over the millennium. 

So she gazed at the moon, until her eyes were too heavy to stay open.

—————————— 

Sher was startled out of sleep by the knocking on her door. She ignored it, choosing to wrap her blanket fort tighter around her.

She suspected it was Roger, but she was too emotionally exhausted to deal with him.

But when the knocking didn’t stop, Sher groaned defeatedly. She dragged the blanket around her and stormed to open the door.

Sure enough, it was Roger. But Sher hadn’t expected the casual, blue sweatshirt he was wearing. She’d always pictured him in suits. And the way his hair curled at the ends made him look like a golden prince. It also made Sher’s heart ache.

“Finally,” he beamed and raised the bottle of vodka in his hand, “I knocked on twenty doors before—” he paused, probably noticing her somber mood because he lowered the bottle and asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she rubbed her eyes, “I was sleeping.”

“What happened to… where’s your friend?” he looked around the room, “The short one who’s been stealing Ezra from me.”

“I don’t know, Roger,” she said, already exhausted and done with the conversation, “why are you here? Don’t you have the party?”

“I promised I’d stop by, remember? And I brought drinks but I don’t think _you_ should be drinking anymore,” he slurred the words with a grin. Sher finally realized the state he was in.

“Are you drunk?” she hissed.

He leaned against the door and frowned, “A little. Can I come in?”

“Oh for fucks sake,” Sher cursed, almost to herself. It was all too much. She was alone in a foreign world and the man she wanted clearly only saw her as a drunk conquest. And Sher wouldn’t let him turn her into his one-night plaything. Not when he meant so much more to her. So it was with a tired whisper that she said, “Go home, Roger.”

“Why can’t I stay here?”

“Why do you _want_ to stay here?” Sher roared, frustrated beyond her limits.

“ _You’re_ here.”

Sher felt it like a shot through her heart. Because it wasn’t true. Not really.

“Liar.”

“I’m not—” he leaned to cup her cheeks, but Sher jerked away instantly, pushing him from her.

It made him pause.

He shoved his outstretched hand into his pocket and stared at her, ”What’s going on? You can tell me.”

She could. She just didn’t want to. But Sher didn’t say any of that, “Go. I’m fine.”

He rubbed his face and glanced at the hallway, “Alright. Stay here, I’ll get John.”

“What?” Sher hissed.

“I—” he slipped one hand under his buttoned shirt and mumbled, “I get it, if you’d rather have him here, I’ll fetch him for you. Just… don’t do whatever you’re doing… alone. Trust me.”

“Except that’s it. I don’t trust you, roger,” Sher said quietly. She didn’t trust anyone but Laia.

“ _Oh,_ ” and he looked so hurt Sher almost wanted to apologize. But she was frankly done apologizing. And she was so, so tired. Besides, they weren’t even friends.

So Sher gently reached for the door, and muttered, “Good night, Roger.”

He pulled his lips into a grim line, and his mouth opened to say something but Sher closed the door on him.

Then she dragged her duvet along the carpeted floor and back to the floor.

But as she glared at the moon, she couldn’t help but despise herself a little more for it.


	6. back to black

\---------- 

🎧 _back to black by amy winehouse_ 🎧

“After you, my dear,” Freddie winked and the golden wings etched around his eyes glittered with the act.

Since it was technically Sher’s party, Freddie insisted on having the two of them _open the show_ in identical looks. Both of them, ever the visual artists, agreed that Munich needed a little more spark, hence the glitter theme.

Like a pair of crows, the two of them wore glittering, black suits and squeezed into shiny leather pants, both tailored to fit and _flaunt_. Sher added a thin, black bralette to hers, but Fred sadly left that addition out of his look. Even their hair was the same shade of black, except Sher’s now fell in soft curls down her chest.

The two were glamour and decadence. And they knew it, too.

With a smirk, they pushed the door open to the drop of confettis and rise of cheers. Below them, a grand hall in gold and black was filled to the brim with people, all gaping at their entrance.

Freddie looped one arm around hers, while his other hand gracefully waved at the ecstatic crowd.

Sher scanned the crowd and found the rest of the band scattered around the hall. But as Freddie and her made their slow but glorious descend down the grand staircase, her eyes never left one man’s face.

Roger, in his glittering green suit, was leaning against a pillar, his hand clenching a glass tightly. Sher saw the way his narrowed eyes devoured her look, even as his lips quirked into a frown. He gulped down the drink in a fluster.

And if stares could burn, Sher would be walking in flames.

But Sher kept herself out of his way. And it wasn’t hard. Especially when a flurry of strangers surrounded her all night. All of them, curious of her connection to Freddie. 

Sher didn’t mind. Since Laia was off to a midnight viewing of the Rocky Horror Show with Ezra and, surprisingly, John Deacon, Sher realized she didn’t mind losing herself amongst strangers.

The unfamiliarity was beginning to turn familiar. But she convinced herself she wasn’t alone, not really. Especially since Roger’s eyes never stopped trailing after her. She noticed how he seemed to follow her around the hall. But it was a chase Sher was determined to refuse him of. Even if it drove her into madness. Even if the pull to him was undeniable. Because she couldn’t trust herself around him.

It was 1 am when she finally lost the buzzing crowd to the wild rave. She prowled to the bar alone, knowing eyes turned to her even in the dark. It was intoxicating, but also exhausting.

To her surprise, Brian May himself found her just as she sipped her second cocktail.

“A lady shouldn’t drink alone,” He tipped his golden glass to hers.

“Haven’t you seen the suit? I’m no lady tonight, Bri” Sher smiled halfheartedly.

“Then it’ll be a great night for us gentlemen. What do you fancy doing after? Wanna get the band together for an early breakfast?”

“Does it matter? We’re not going to remember this night anyway.”

“Ah, the endless tirade of highs have made this less remarkable, hasn’t it? You found that out too quickly,” He grimaced.

“If this is it,” She asked quietly, “If every high moment eventually becomes the new ordinary, then what are we really running to, Brian? What is the ultimate high?”

“Maybe we’re not meant to chase a high,” He said softly, looking at his empty glass, “maybe that shouldn’t be the goal.”

“What’s this then?” Roger loudly interrupted as he pointed between the two of them, his eyes narrowing.

“We’re having a philosophical pondering, Rog. It’s important talk between two gentlemen,” Sher raised her brows in challenge, as if daring him to exclude her out of the group.

“Three gentleman better than two so, go on,” He said as he pulled his shades off in mock seriousness. But there was a slight tension to the words. It wasn’t his usual light banter.

Brian sighed and brought him up to speed while Sher ordered them all another drink.

When she came back, Roger’s brows were furrowed, “I didn’t know you both felt that way,” he frowned.

“You know what? I think the high moments become a low when we outgrow the excitement of the experience,” Sher muttered lazily, ignoring Roger’s comment as she dipped her pinky into her drink.

“Maybe the experience is no longer important? Maybe something has shifted and now we rotten folks have found something better worth pursuing?” Brian mused as he tapped his finger on his chin.

“So we’ve outgrown the high moments,” Sher finished with a sobering look at Brian.

He mirrored her look with an equally troubling sigh at their thrilling discovery.

At that, something seemed to shift in Roger’s stance as he glanced between the two of them with an odd expression.

“Never thought I’d see anyone withstand Brian’s internal monologue before,” he smiled tightly and reached to ruffle her hair. But this time, Sher was prepared. She ducked just in time.

“Oh yeah,” She said as he frowned at his failed attempt, “we are pretty _and_ intelligent,” then Sher did the double peace signs which might have instantly ruined her credibility.

“Nah, that only applies to you, not our Brian over here.” He chuckled weakly.

“Oh _shut up_ , Rog,” Brian shoved him.

“Yes shut up, _Roger_ ,” Sher repeated more passionately and strolled back to the bar.

“Only if you save me a dance,” he shouted to her, followed by an annoyed, “Not you Brian.”

Sher gulped her drink from the bar and shouted back, “Can’t. I have drinks to drink.”

To which Brian May raised his own glass to and said, “Hear, hear!”

“Seriously,” Roger strode to her, eyeing the drinks already lined up for her, “you ought to slow down, Sher. It’s only 1.”

Sher didn’t mean for her chuckle to sound so bitter, but it did. What would Roger Taylor know of spiralling out of control anyway? She knew it was probably insane, but she was drunk and all she wanted to do was _let go_. She was secretly curious as to what would happen if she did. Besides, who the hell cared? Laia wasn’t there to witness anything disastrous.

Let the night turn into her little rage party, she thought.

So Sher rolled her eyes at Roger, saw the flash of hurt glaze that gorgeous face and, with more difficulty than she’d expected, left him to Brian.

Through the night, she saw Roger grow more bewildered and frantic from across the room. Then everything became too blurry for her to notice anyone’s face.

Even Freddie found his way to her sometime during the night, or was it already morning? She couldn’t tell.

“Do you want to leave, dove?” Freddie whispered, concern glazing the words, “I’ll have the limo out front for you.”

Sher, through the curtain of fogginess, only shook her head and planted a kiss on his cheek, “I am alive here, Freddie, don't drag me to my grave.”


	7. take on me

It was probably 4am.

The night had slowed down to a low thrum.

Sher was sat on a corner, making slurred conversation on mangoes with a stranger when he asked her if she wanted to find Freddie and go home. Sher nodded, but before she could even stand up, Roger was there.

“Where are you guys going?” Roger asked casually, his face a cool neutral.

“Uh hey Rog, just getting out of here. It’s late,” Mango Man shrugged.

“Yeah, it _is_ late, so go on,” he gestured him towards the door, “Leave.”

Sher winced from the floor, “Can we crawl home instead?”

Mango man chuckled and reached to help Sher up.

But before he could, Roger shoved his hands off her.

Both Sher and Mango Man stared at Roger, equally surprised at his sudden burst of anger.

“Oh for fucks sake,” Roger growled at him, “Piss off, man. She can’t even stand right.”

Sher was the first to break the tense silence. She placed her hands back in Mango Man’s hands and let him pull her up.

Then she narrowed her eyes at Roger and hissed quietly, “What’s wrong with you?”

She wasn’t expecting him to glare back at her.

“What’s wrong with me?” he scoffed, “what’s wrong with _you_? Hanging out with slobs—”

“He’s trying to walk me to Fred, _Roger_ ,” Sher spat the words.

“I—” Roger glanced between them with wide eyes, “Sher—”

She ignored Roger and turned to Mango Man, “Thank you for being a lovely gentleman. Have a good night, dude. I’ll be fine,” she kissed his cheek.

“You sure?” Mango Man eyed Roger with distrust, but bid her goodbye when she nodded firmly.

“You don't have to be such an ass,” Sher said after he left. And she sounded epic saying it, until she bumped into a marble pillar and hit her head, hard. It made her blurry vision even more foggy.

Before she knew it, she was slumped off someone’s back.

The world was quite the view, upside down, and she actually liked the steady beat of footsteps. It lulled her into a sleepy state of calm.

Until she fell. Head first to the ground.

“Fucking hell,” she let out, and heard Roger curse colourfully, also on the floor.

“I’m sorry, oh God, I am _so_ sorry,” his little voice said in between the cursing.

“You’re just as drunk as I am, why’d you think _that_ was a good idea?” Sher roared.

“Yeah, well, if you’d left when Fred told you to, we wouldn’t be here now, would we?”

“You sent him after me?” she gasped, rubbing the bump that would soon appear there.

“Can you just walk? To the car?” he gruntled instead, even as he swayed with each step.

And the two of them, after bumping into walls and then into each other repeatedly, made the long trek out of the hall. Sher almost gave up on the stairs— especially after seeing Roger tumble down not once, but twice— but the two of them kept going, even crawling at one point.

“I fucking hate alcohol,” Sher muttered in disgust when they finally reached the door of a limousine.

Roger thanked the Gods, even reaching to give the driver a kiss, but the man politely evaded and directed him inside.

Sher scoffed at him but slipped inside without another word. Silence grew during the drive, but Sher was so drunk that her mind was loud enough to entertain her. So she didn’t mind the quiet, until her lids grew heavy and sleep threatened to take her.

She finally conceded and plopped her head on Roger’s lap.

“Sheepy,” she whispered, not realizing she’d lost the ability to say words properly, and closed her eyes. She was aware of the way his scratchy silk pants grazed her cheek.

Sher felt Roger’s fingers move through her hair, pulling the strands away from her face, and then— annoyingly— he started tapping on her head as if she was his goddamn drum kit.

“Oi,” she opened her eyes to complain, but saw him smiling down at her. Something in those eyes spoke of mischief but also of genuine affection. Sher was surprised to see it, even if it was glazed with drunkenness.

She gulped down the rest of her words and smoothly sat up on his lap, eye to eye with him.

“Are you drunk?” She asked.

“As drunk as you are. How’s your head?”

“Sore, and you drumming on it isn’t helping, you know.”

“My mum always did that to me, seem I’ve taken up her habits,” he continued brushing her hair as they talked.

“Oh, didn’t know that. How’s she?”

At that, a shadow crossed his face, “Good. How’s _your_ mother?” he retorted defensively, which made Sher snort.

“Well damn, if I knew you had mommy issues—”

He gasped, “I do not,” then he fluffed her hair and wrinkled his nose, “Besides, what would you do if I did, hmm?”

“Not this,” she planted a kiss on the corner of his lips the way she’d wanted to for weeks.

Roger froze. And then those blue eyes roamed around her face, as if seeing past her walls for the first time.

“Cool cat,” he purred into her ears, his breath warm on her neck, “you’re not playing fair.”

And that did it for Sher. All rational thoughts forgotten.

Instantly, her lips were on his.

And Roger, by some crazy miracle to Sher, kissed her back.

The two of them fell into each other’s lips as if they’d done it a million times, breaking only to catch their breaths.

Sher slipped her hands underneath his shirt. Her lips didn’t leave his, even as her fingers threaded softly around his chest, and eventually to the ridges of his spine. A slow exploration of what made Roger Taylor tick.

The soft groan that escaped his lips made her contemplate dying in his arms. Not a bad way to go, she thought amusingly.

Then his fingers found her hair, pulling softly at her roots. Suddenly, it was her turn to make ungodly noises. She hooked her legs around his waist, pressing him against the leather seat.

Sher smiled against his lips when she heard him curse softly, the two of them glued to each other.

Until the car abruptly stopped and the two of them were unglued from each other. They tumbled into the limousine floor, shrieking and cursing.

“Bloody hell,” he roared into her ears, and Sher slapped his back, trying to get him off her.

“Crushing me—” she let out.

“—trying to get up—,” he grunted and the driver chose that perfect moment to open the door.

The two of them spilled out into the night, both glaring at the driver who had turned bright red at the sight of them.

“Fucking mess,” Sher groaned as she tried to brush the dirt off her pants.

With unsteady steps, they made their slow journey into the hotel. Sher almost cried in relief when they finally reached his room. She flung her glittering heels off and sighed when her soles touched wooden floor.

In an instant, the two of them collapsed into the bed.

“Pause?” Sher asked.

“Pause,” he mumbled beside her, equally exhausted.

Sher took off her suit, not because she was trying to be seductive, but because the fabric was uncomfortable against her skin. She saw Roger forcing his eyes open as he too, tried to remove his green suit.

She giggled from across the bed, watching him unsuccessfully unbutton his shirt with closed eyes. It was quite an adorable sight.

Her head was still hazy, so it was with groggy movements that she crawled to him.

And the sight of her like that, must’ve been quite ridiculous because Roger’s mouth gaped open.

“What?” she asked, sitting on his lap. She instinctively ran her fingers around his hair, untangling the stubborn knots.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispered as he wrapped his hands around her hips and planted soft kisses there.

Sher paused, not expecting him to say _that_. It made something in her belly flutter.

Quickly, she stooped down to unbutton his shirt.

“Wait—” he stopped her hands, face all serious, “are you sure?”

Sher thought about it. Despite the blurriness, she knew she wanted him.

So Sher said firmly, “Yes. Are you?”

“Yes, Sher,” he said before his lips crashed against hers, “Fucking hell, yes.”

And, as the two of them fell into each other that night, he sang her name over and over and over again.

—————————— 

Sher woke up still wrapped in Roger’s arms.

The way his chest rose and fell with each breath almost lulled her back to sleep.

Outside their bubble, the sun had disappeared under grey clouds. Rain stormed down the busy streets of Munich, making it the perfect morning to stay in.

Sher smiled sadly.

She gave herself a minute to take it all in.

The way Roger’s dark lashes and long hair painted him into an angel. The way his long limbs wrapped Sher in a safe cocoon, protected from the cold of that morning.

She could stay curled between his arms forever.

But she didn’t.

Sher sighed, kissed that one corner of his lips lightly before slowly untangling herself from him. It almost seemed impossible that they were still two separate bodies after last night. But they were, and they would continue to be two different people.

And she’d rather leave on her own than have him show her the door.

Besides, if she couldn’t have him, she _would_ have her self-respect. She wouldn’t let him parade her around as his one night stand— not when she thought of him as something more.

So Sher let the cold seep into her skin as she moved away from the comfort of his warmth. Her bare feet hit cold floor and she tiptoed slowly.

She put on his buttoned shirt from last night and squeezed back into her leather pants.

Thunder cracked, casting shadows on the grim morning. 

Sher sighed.

After one last look, she closed the door behind and left before he woke up. 

Let him think it was all a hazy dream.

It might as well have been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I stan Mango Man.


	8. half the world away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> PART II  
>   
>  _so what do you say  
>  you can't give me the dreams that are mine anyway  
> you're half the world away  
> half the world away _  
> 

“I’m thinking about getting myself a kitten, what do you think?” Freddie muttered.

Sher laughed warmly as she dabbed eyeshadow on him, “I call dibs on babysitting duties.”

“Will you really?” he cracked open an eye as he smoked his cigarette, “because if this gets overboard, it’ll be on you, darling.”

The set around them buzzed as technicians and producers in bell-bottomed jeans and yellow sunglasses rushed from one end to another.

The overhead lights that supposedly was _new technology_ unlocked a new level of pain for Sher’s hangover. She’d just made it in time— after rushing from Roger’s room to her own that morning— before she was pulled out of bed by Laia. Queen had a surprise photoshoot with an indie photographer apparently. Which was how, while she nursed her large cup of coffee around the large set, she did Brian’s, John’s, and at that moment, Freddie’s make up. The inevitable last member still sat on the opposite side of the set, impatiently waiting his turn.

“Then let a parade of kittens be on me. There are worse things to be responsible for,” Sher said.

“Like the foul mood of a certain blondie?” he raised his brows, catching where her gaze had settled a second before.

“I—” she huffed, “you’re too attentive sometimes.”

“No, Sher darling, I had to share a car with him this morning. The man is a _talker_.”

Sher groaned as her fingers dotted the final touches of glitter on his skin, “What did he say to you?”

“Oh, only that—” he raised his voice to a full falsetto to mimic Roger’s, “Sher’s bloody heartless. And she loathes me. Oh why? why does she loathe me? Whatever must I do, Freddie, you beautiful bastard—”

Sher slapped his shoulder lightly, “Stop it! He doesn’t sound like that.”

“Oh I wanted to open that door and jump out right there! but then I thought, _no way in hell_ I’m letting these wankers start the new album without me,” He grinned, the picture of wickedness.

“Five minutes, Sher?” the producer tapped his watch at her.

“But seriously, go easy on him,” Freddie sobered up, “Or we’ll have to get a new drummer.”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing, Fred,” she whispered sadly and gestured at him to leave his chair, “Off you go, pretty boy.”

“Pretty? I think I’ll take _magnificent_ next time, darling.” He blew her smug kisses.

Sher snorted, starting to pack up her things when Freddie gasped and jogged back to her.

“I almost forgot! Exciting news for you, button,” he tapped her nose lightly, “You remember our Munich party?”

“You mean the one we _literally_ are still hungover from?”

“Well guess whose manager has been vying for your number all day long after seeing our phenomenal looks.”

Sher tipped her head to the side, excitement filling her, “Who?”

“Oh you’re gonna love it!”

“Who is it!” she slapped his shoulder again when he still refused to say, “Freddie!”

“David Bowie!” he threw his hands in the air, grinning.

Sher almost fainted then and there. Queen, she had gotten used to. But David Bowie? The David Bowie. She was speechless, so she acted on impulse and startled Freddie Mercury into a big hug and squealed. 

“He wants you to tour with him.” His words were muffled against her hair as he gingerly tapped her head, “I told him no way of course, not unless he pays you great, fat, royalties.”

“Freddie!” she gasped.

“Oh don’t fuss. He totally bought into it. Anyway, if he’s going to steal you for four weeks, it better be worth every single penny. How are you going to survive without us otherwise?”

“I never said I’ll do it,” she said, but the idea started rooting itself in her head. Especially with the whole Roger situation, it might be a great idea to leave for a while and let things calm down before they escalate to the inevitable. She bit her lips and asked, “Are you sure you can spare me for four weeks?”

“The next four weeks are empty for us, lovie. Only got that one gig—”

“The next four— you mean— this Monday? Tomorrow?”

He nodded, but the both of them were interrupted by no other than a gruntled Brian May.

“Hey Sher, sorry to bother, but can you get to Roger’s make up soon? He made me walk all this way just to tell you that.” He rolled his eyes.

“Uh oh,” Freddie winced and gave Sher a solidarity tap on her shoulder, “Off you go, kitten.”

—————————— 

Sher sighed and strode towards Roger’s chair but he was blatantly ignoring her.

“Hey,” Sher said. When he still refused to acknowledge her, she started unpacking her make up kit silently.

She dotted light foundation on his cheek and saw him wince at her touch.

Sher paused, staring at him with tired eyes. But he didn’t budge, didn’t say a word. He only grew colder by the second.

“Roger,” She said gently as she bent down to his eye level.

His eyes shot to hers with a glare that could burn down buildings, “Oh, don’t start speaking to me now, your majesty.”

Seeing him like that, she realized instantly that the previous night was a stupid mistake. Because they were never supposed to get tangled up in each other like that. It was clearly the last thing they needed. Sher sighed, knowing what she must do. Even if he hated her for it. But there were, after all, worse things to be responsible for.

“Listen,” she reached to cup his cheek, and it must’ve been instinct because he leaned into her touch anyway, “I’m leaving.”

He froze, eyes scanning her face frantically, “What?” he spat the word.

“David Bowie wants me to work under him,” Sher forced a smile, “I’m doing it.”

“For how long?”

Sher sighed, too drained and tired to fake it, “A month? I don’t know.”

“ _Sher_ ,” he groaned her name like it was a curse, “I don’t bloody get you.”

“You don’t have to.”

He glared at his hands, not meeting her eyes, before saying, “Is this because of last night… why'd you leave this morning?”

“I had to get ready for this shoot.”

He chuckled bitterly, “At least grace me with the truth. Don't i fucking deserve that?”

“You really wanna know?” Sher hissed at last, “It's because I won't have you shove me out the door like all the other girls you've been with!”

He glared at her, brows furrowed, “Is that what you think of me?”

“I don’t know _what_ to think of you. But I do know you’re a rock star, Roger.”

“And? what’s _that_ supposed to mean?” 

“You know what it means,” Sher sighed softly, “There’s nothing in the future but pain and regret if I were to entertain the thought of us being… anything.”

His eyes widened, a flash of hurt glazing his face, “so that _is_ what you think of me.”

It pained Sher to see him that way. But there were a million different reasons to stay away from him. Even if he wasn’t the person he was, there was still the damning truth of her situation. She would eventually leave the 70s. Anything but a shallow friendship would only come around to bite her in the end. But she couldn’t say any of that to him.

Instead, she steadied her heart and said, “Don’t wait up for me, okay? I’m catching the first flight tonight.”

He stared at her, “Stay. After this shoot, stay for a bit and we’ll talk this out. I really do fancy you, Sher.”

“I’ve made up my mind.”

Roger exhaled sharply, a bitter smile forming on his lips. 

"I'm sorry," Sher whispered.

But he shook his head, "No, you're not. I just hope you won't lose yourself trying to push everyone away. "

Sher was stunned into silence.

But before she could say anything, Roger got up from his chair and left, hands in his pockets.

—————————— 

“How’s your dad then?” Roger asked softly, the late night wind brushing through his hair.

Freddie and him sat beside each other on the hotel roof chairs, watching the night sky quietly fade into dawn. When Roger knocked his door for a smoke at 3am, Freddie had cursed colourfully all the way up the stairs. They, after all, had a flight to Liverpool in four hours. But the roof nights were a frequent occasion between the two of them.

“Dealing with the idea that his boy is now a frugal rock star, yours?” Freddie passed the cigarette to Roger.

“No fucking idea. Last I saw him was two years ago, remember? When—”

“When he asked you for money, I just remembered,” Freddie sighed, “Ah, parents. always a fucking delight.”

“Not us, Fred,” he shook his head, “we’ll be better.” He swore to himself he would be, not after what he’d endured.

“Nah, I think I’ll get cats. Sher—” Freddie abruptly stopped speaking, before continuing in twice the speed, “I like cats better, less fuss, you know, five of the—”

“I’m guessing she was all for the kittens?” He chuckled bitterly, blowing a puff of smoke into the air.

“Hmm, wanted to babysit them or something,” Freddie said quietly, looking at the night sky.

“It’s alright, you don’t have to pretend it didn’t happen.”

Freddie turned to face him, long hair sashaying in the wind, “are _you_ alright, Roger?”

Roger sighed, “Sometimes I wanna see whole cities burn to the ground. It’s a rotten and ugly world we’re living in. But it used to be so bright and light. She reminds me of that lost world. So yeah… it feels like I ought to… just that… she…” He let his words trail into nothing, the quiet of the night sweeping it under the rug.

“Yeah, she seems to brighten each room she wanders into. It’s a rare gift, really. But you’re giving her too much credit, Rog. I think even she can’t escape the rotten and ugly.”

“You saw that, hmm?”

“You mean when she almost outdrank the both of us yesterday?”

Roger felt the worry creep into his head again, “Maybe we should pay her a visit when she’s with Bowie? Just to see if she’s alright?”

“Yeah,” he said softly, “Check up on our kitten.”

Then it was Roger’s turn to face Freddie with worried eyes, “How’s you and Mary? You don't have to pretend. Not when you're with me, alright?”

“I'm fine, Rog, I can take care of myself you know.”

“ _Freddie_ ,” he started but Freddie brushed him away with a look.

“It’s fine. Besides it’s your failed affairs we’re focusing on right now. Don’t turn your blade on me.”

“Well, here I am, fucking worried over everyone when I can’t do shit to help,” Roger kicked at the table in front of them, and then yelped in pain instantly, “Oi! Which asshat drilled these furnitures to the ground!”

Freddie clutched his belly as he roared into laughter, “oh Rog, you’re the heart of our little group for a reason,” he wiped the tears, trying to be serious.

“Yeah, except it’s done my own heart no good,” He growled into the night sky.

“Oh don’t worry. She’ll be back,” he puffs up another smoke, “I know she will.”

“Nah, I don’t know,” Roger said as he watched the dawn sky paint streaks of orange into the navy blue.

“Why did she refuse your charms again?” Freddie blew another puff of smoke into the air.

“Because I’m a rockstar,” Roger said blatantly.

“Hmm, makes sense,” Freddie said without a pause.

“Makes fucking sense,” Roger repeated as the two of them broke into soft but bitter laughter.

—————————— 

“It’s only for a month,” Sher mumbled as she folded her clothes into the suitcase.

Laia’s jaw dropped, “A month?” she crossed the room in two steps, “what happened to not straying away?”

“Laia, you can’t be serious.”

Laia inhaled sharply, “What? Me and Ezra? That’s not the same as flying off to a different country!”

Sher sighed and held Laia’s shoulders, “Don’t you get it? If I stay, it’ll only make it worse for everyone when we eventually leave.”

“But this isn’t how you fix the situation,” she leaned away, “And _I_ need you here. Just as _you_ need me. We’ll spiral to insanity without each other!”

“You haven’t needed me for a while,” Sher whispered, the weariness seeping into her bones. It was 3am and her flight was in an hour. The last time she slept, she was in Roger’s arms, so to say that it had been a long day would be an understatement.

But Laia shook her head firmly, “No, that’s not it. What’s going on, Sher?”

“Nothing,” Sher breathed.

“Then why are you running?” Laia narrowed her eyes, “What happened with Roger? Yesterday?”

Sher exhaled, “We slept together.”

Laia furrowed her brows, “Then why are you leaving? I don’t—” then her eyes widened and she pulled her lips into a grim line, “Oh _Sher_.”

“What?”

“Don’t do this to yourself,” Laia said gently, “Not again.”

“You think I want to do this?” Sher tossed her boots into the suitcase.

“Listen, I know it’s a terrifying thing to lose yourself to someone else, but you can’t live like this,” Laia hissed, “God, you preach of adventure and living off the road like it’s a fantasy but the moment you encounter anything serious, you run the other way?”

“I’m not like you,” Sher roared frustratingly, “I can’t just go out there and risk getting my heart trampled every other week. I can’t. I just… I can’t.”

“Then what’s the point of _living_ , if you’re too afraid to leave your fucking safety bubble?” Laia roared back.

Sher gaped, speechless at the irony of the situation. In an instant, red hot rage was all she knew.

“The point of living?” Sher spat the words, “because I have to! Or else _you_ ’ll be dead! Years ago!”

Laia’s face crumpled into a painful frown, “that’s not fair. I didn’t ask you to—”

“What? You’d rather I leave you to OD in a drug den?” Sher shouted.

“Stop—”

“It’s you, and my parents, and him. All of you say I need to do things differently, but what’s so fucking wrong with _my_ way? You just want to save yourselves and I’m conveniently the answer. And I’m _so_ fucking _tired_ of it,” she half sobbed, half shouted, “of holding this world up on a pedestal when it hasn’t been worth a single second.”

“That’s not fucking fair,” Laia furrowed her brows, and Sher saw the tears pooling in her eyes.

With shaky hands, Sher zipped her suitcase close.

“We should’ve left that first fucking day,” Laia whispered coldly.

Sher knew if she said another word, she would break into a sob. So she didn’t say anything.

Instead, she dragged the suitcase with so much force it almost hit Laia in the chest. She told herself she didn’t care if it had, and strode outside.

“Then go,” Laia said sharply, “But don’t come back just to mourn the life you could’ve had if you weren’t such a _coward_.”

Laia slammed the door behind her.

She might as well have slapped her. But Sher kept walking, even as her heart felt like it was torn and shattered. And with it, came the surging panic, bitter as bile.

She ran straight into the taxi, forcing herself to breathe in the three counts she was taught to do.

She didn’t let herself feel or think anything as the car sped to the airport. Nothing, as she landed in New York that evening. Not a word, as she walked out of her yellow cab and breathed in the New York air.

Then, she let herself stay lost for a while because she didn’t like the person she had become.


	9. starman

“And this is—” The bald music producer gestured at Sher to introduce herself to yet another group of business men.

“Uh, Sher,” She said absentmindedly, eyes already soaring the outdoor party for David.

“You look fantastic, baby, I have connections if modelling is in your—” A man with large glasses smiled like a weasel at her, but Sher interrupted his words with a cold glare.

“Not my cup of tea, thanks,” Sher said, trying to slip away from them. New York in the 70s? Not a pretty place to be a girl.

“Are you sure? A body like that,” the man licked his lips and Sher was ready to curse at him when she spotted a flurry of red in the crowd.

“Ah, Dave calls,” she practically shoved the men aside to pave her way through to David Bowie. His red velvet hair was tousled into its gorgeous hairdo and the lean man broke into a sly smile when he spotted her.

“Sherry! There you are! Come look at the bathroom design, it’s promiscuously green” he giggled, eyes glimmering with excitement. The vibrant maroon she painted on his eyes was smudged around his black eyeliner.

“ _David_ ,” Sher groaned but let him rest his arm around her shoulder as they strolled aimlessly around the outdoor park.

“Oh don’t be a Pourro, now,” he said.

“Pourro isn’t a word, you know,” Sher shook her head but smiled at the man she’d gone to adore with all of her heart.

“It is in the 70s,” he winked absentmindedly, “Come on now, give me your hands and follow me.”

“Come on where?” Sher poked his waist, making him jump, “The only place you’re going right now is home. I don’t even wanna know how many lines you did in that _promiscuously green_ washroom.”

“Enough to sustain me for the night. Besides, we must persist with the wild living or risk a dull, sorry existence,” he paused to stare around before he grimaced, “Look at all these people, so oblivious to the youth they’re wasting. It’s a bloody nightmare.”

Then he turned towards her, as if remembering who he was talking to and smiled wickedly, “Oh, I must tell you. I chatted one lad earlier in said loo. He has _the_ most marvellous tattoo. A lion with a woman’s eyes. Worth writing about? What do you think?”

Sher beamed at the question. It warmed her heart how much he valued her opinions, especially on something as important as his music. But that was the thing about David Bowie. His kindness was the authentic sort, not the pretentious front some people put up just to seem nice. And he really did scrutinize the world around him with intelligent eyes.

Shoving the insanity of the situation aside, Sher was immensely proud to call him a friend.

“I think, with your genius poetry, it’ll be beautiful as always,” she said.

He brushed her away with a shy smile, “You’re spoiling me with these compliments, Sherry. It’s dangerous. I might grow content.”

“You? Content?” Sher raised her brows.

David chuckled softly and squeezed her shoulders, “Fair point. Now where’s that car of mine again?”

As Sher walked him to the front porch, she asked, “Did the guys from Queen stop by? I had to fight the slobs all night long, had no chance to mingle.”

“Queen? I wouldn’t know. I was preoccupied with, er, lion guy,” then his smug face crumpled into disgust at her latter words, “The business asshats got to you again? Oh I’m sorry, Sher, I wish I can have these parties without them, but alas, the disgraceful record companies have us wrapped around their fingers. Like puppeteers,” he finished with a grim look at her.

Sher shook her head, pulling him into a hug, “We’ll change it all one day, just you wait,” She firmly said before ushering him inside his Rolls Royce.

——————————

Usually, after she’d taken care of David, there was really no reason for her to linger. But that morning, they had sent a party invitation to Queen who had a gig in the city that weekend.

Sher wondered if they had forgotten all about her. It had been two months since she left London after all.

And she never meant to stay longer, but they hadn’t called for her either. So she thought she’d do everyone a favour and stay in New York.

The grittiness of 70s New York, however, was something she hadn’t expected. With its foul smelling streets yet riveting nightlife, it wasn’t the safest place on the planet— nor the prettiest— but it had an undeniable pull to anyone who’d lived a day there.

And, as humans do when placed in strange environments, Sher eventually made it home. David himself got her the apartment across his penthouse when they realized his upcoming months revolved around New York. The nightly summer parties, unfortunately, was the small print in his contract. A show of his wealth and favours. It was all marketing, of course, which David utterly despised. That was how the two of them initially bonded— over great distaste for men whose every conversation centred only on profits and stock exchanges.

Sher strode around the park, finding comfort in the fairy lights strung around branches and tall electric poles. Her room, the old 20s one, used to have multiple fairy lights strung almost in the same haphazard way. It had kept the dark at bay.

She glanced at her watch and made the decision to wait another hour. If they weren’t there by 1, she’d leave.

But as the second ticked by, she only grew antsy, so she did the inevitable and strode to the open bar.

“Do you have Cornettos here in America?”

Sher whipped her head at the voice and found John Deacon grinning his eyes into two soft lines at her.

“Sorry, we’re late, Fred here wants to arrive _fashionably_ late,” Brian chimed in, his curly hair complimenting the dark suit he wore— ever the prince charming.

Sher’s shock dissolved into happy squeals at the familiar faces.

“Sher, darling,” Freddie was the first to pull her into a hug, which was the surprise of the week.

She searched behind his shoulder for a hint of blonde, but when her eyes found none, her lips found words instead.

“You’re here!” she grinned and pulled the other two into a full on group hug, “I’ve missed you guys.”

“We’ve missed _you_ ,” Brian dropped a kiss on her cheek.

“How’s New York treating you?” John said, as he crouched down to sit on the ground, leaning his back against the bar counter.

“Wonderful. If you don’t count the terrifying nights.” Sher slid down beside him, careful not to spill her drink in the process, “The men are _so_ creepy here,” she rolled her eyes, “and I do miss you guys.”

“Well, my satin pants are _not_ touching that vile floor,” Freddie eyed the two of them before whipping his head to Brian, “Drinks, Bri? Then let’s hunt that asshat David down.”

“After you, Fred,” Brian gestured dramatically to the bar, before dropping a friendly wink at Sher, “Catch you later, Sher.’

Sher didn’t have the heart to tell them they’d just missed David, so she watched as the two of them demanded drinks from the bar before strutting and apologizing their way around the party. Well, Fred strutted, Bri apologized.

“What a couple of dorks,” Sher said adoringly, and then sighed when she felt the missing space that held their fourth member.

“Hey,” John tapped her knee, “He’s late because he couldn’t figure out what to wear. But you didn’t hear that from me.”

Sher laughed in relief, “He’s going to murder you for that.”

At his devil-may-care shrug, she asked, “What about you John, how are you?”

He winced, stealing a sip from Sher’s glass, “It’s alright, I suppose. Touring is getting terribly repetitive. I can’t wait to get back to the studio.”

“And what’s brewing in John Deacon’s brilliant mind?” She gulped her gin, already knowing where the conversation was going.

“Disco,” he smiled sweetly.

“Ah, that sounds revolutionary!” she raised her glass in the air, “here’s to you, John, for being one genius bass player. And don’t let anyone, especially Bri, tell you otherwise.”

“That prat does get on my nerves, always attacking every idea I throw at the band.”

 _Ah_ , Sher thought grimly, _here comes Back Chat._

“But this new song—” he was saying, until his eyes caught something. He stood up, brushed his pants and said, “Well, isn’t it late? I hope I’ll be seeing you soon, Sher. It’s different without you.”

“What? Where are you going?” She frowned and was about to drag him back down when she heard the softest voice call out from the crowd.

“Sher! I didn’t know you’d be in this sodding place too!” Roger’s voice was honeyed wine from an old, wintry morning.

The moment she saw him, all the cliché in the world of literature must’ve groaned collectively. For it was true. Nothing in the world mattered. The crowd blurred into a fog, the light centering only on his soft grin and the way he sang her name.

Sher couldn’t recall dropping her drink or walking to him, just that he looked so fucking beautiful and that she’d missed that set of blue eyes terribly.

Before she knew it, she had _leaped_ into his arms, legs hooked around his waist. And despite everything they’d said and done to each other, he caught her.

She planted the softest kiss on his cheek and he grinned as he nuzzled his nose to hers. Because, despite it all, she had missed him. Terribly, terribly missed him. And to see him look at her as if he’d _also_ missed her? That must’ve been the sort of euphoria reserved only for the Gods, because it was too much for Sher to bear.

“I don’t mind carrying you in my arms all night, cool cat, but I think we should get some drinks while we’re at it?” he winked and walked the two steps before plopping her down at the bar counter. His hands never left her waist as he bent over her to order drinks from the bartender.

Sher took that moment to take him in. His gloriously blonde hair fell to his shoulders in soft waves. The floral long-sleeves he wore was unbuttoned, revealing the smooth chest strapped with multiple necklaces. She giggled when she spotted the glittering pink converse. Immediately, his mouth brushed her ears as he asked, “what are you laughing at?”

“I like your shoes.”

“Then take them,” he said seriously as he slid her closer to him, “They’re yours.”

Sher stared at him in awe. Queen wasn’t rich by any means. Not yet, at least. So the simple act of kindness was much greater than it seemed.

Then the man gasped at her.

“Oh God, your hair!” he pulled the few strands of blonde that hid behind her curtain of black.

“Ah, you are witnessing a stroke of David Bowie’s spontaneity,” Sher grinned as he continued to search for more blonde strands.

“This is his doing?” he furrowed his brows tightly.

“Yeah, can you believe it? He did it himself too, that insane man. Made me run over to his place at 2am just for him to greet me with a bottle of bleach.” Sher chuckled at the memory.

“ _Oh,_ ” he frowned, staring at his hands, before muttering under his breath, “sounds like a jolly good time.”

“You don’t like it?” Sher frowned back.

“No, it’s…” he stared at her, as if seeing her truly for the first time, “different. _You’re_ different.”

Sher smiled sadly, “Well, we can’t all stay in Neverland forever. Gotta grow up one day, you know.”

He raised his brows at her answer. His thumb reached to brush her cheek and Sher leaned into his touch instinctively. She sighed, closing her eyes.

“How are you, _really_?” he asked.

Sher opened her eyes. From the top of the granite counter, she could see the party clearly. She gazed around, pondering the past couple of months, before her eyes finally rested on his.

“Miserable.”

He paused and cupped her cheeks, “Then come home. Tonight. Screw that git, we’ll terminate your contract or whatever. I’ll sort it out myself.”

Except it was him that was holding her back, wasn’t it?

Sher leaned away from him and asked in a forced casual tone, “Where’s Laia? Is she here too?”

“Glued to that git Ezra. Can’t believe he forgot to set up my tom toms earlier. Had to chase him during Bri’s solo and guess where I found his arse? On the corner, marching powder up his nose,” he scoffed.

“Tom toms? Marching powder? What are you even saying, blondie,” she teased and saw the way he sheepishly smiled at the nickname.

But the man straightened and wrinkled his nose, “Ah I see how it is. Two months in America and you’ve grown uncultured.”

“Uncultured!” she gaped through the smile and poked his chest, “but no, seriously, how’s Laia? She won’t take my calls.”

“Honestly? I’m a wee bit worried.” He stared at his drink, stirring the ice.

“Why?” Sher sobered instantly, “Is she okay?” She gripped his arms, as if it could stop the inevitable.

“It’s all good fun, but she’s been the first and last to get on the coke and it’s slightly—”

“Coke?” Sher gasped, the world sliding from under her feet. Suddenly, the bar counter was too high, the air too cold, “Cocaine?”

“Sher—” He panicked, lifting her off the granite table in one move, “What’s going on?”

“Fuck,” she said, her breath coming in short gasps, “Take me to her.”

He must’ve realized how serious it was, because he nodded and the two of them sprinted to the front porch.

Sher’s thoughts scattered to the past few weeks and she felt panic rise up her chest, “This isn’t what I… she’s… in first year… oh God, how long has she been—?” she found his face in the terrifying blur of horror.

“I don’t know—” his eyes frantically scanned her face, “Ezra, I’ll call Ezra.”

“I did this,” she realized in a terrifying chill, “I did this to her.”

Because it was true. She was the one who left her.

The two of them were spiralling down and, like arrogant fools, they’d ditched each other instead.

——————————

Sher didn’t remember walking to the cab.

As the car zoomed past the night, she felt bile rise up her throat. It was her fault. If anything happened to Laia… “God, I’m _so_ stupid,” she gasped brushing the cold sweat from her neck.

“Hey,” Roger’s arms curled around her waist, chanting words that couldn’t penetrate her bubble of fog.

That was when it hit her. Just how _dark_ it was inside the cab.

Like a switch being turned off, it became _too_ dark.

Sher gasped, even as she struggled to push the thoughts away.

 _Not now_ , she begged herself, _not now._

But it was no use.

Instantly, she felt reality shift away.

And a vivid nightmare replaced it.

“No, no, no,” she whispered in a panic as the memories of her past surfaced.

It instantly sent chills down her spine.

She felt the strong grip on her wrists, felt it drag her to the closet under her house.

Sher blinked furiously, “not real, not real,” she squeezed her eyes shut.

But the laughter rang in her ears. As they all watched her scream and kick.

“Not real,” her chest caved with the pain. And like a floodgate, it unleashed her past.

“What’s wrong—” she heard someone say faintly, from so far away.

“I can’t stay here,” she hissed.

She had to get out.

But she was shoved into a closet by arms stronger than hers. Arms that were supposed to love, not hurt.

She wept then, trying to cling to the fairy lights. But there was none. There never was any. Not in that closet.

And as she clawed at the metal door, she heard the keys lock. No window. Not a drop of light. Just vile darkness that threatened to choke her.

“Make it stop,” she begged.

The motion stopped. Was she in a car? She couldn’t remember.

But light poured. A door opened. Sher crawled and crawled until she fell. Rocky ground caught her knees and she gasped a lungful of air.

There, in the middle of nowhere, with the stars above her, Sher fell to her knees and broke down.

She sobbed, her hands catching the flowing tears as it poured and poured.

But Laia. She needed to get to Laia. Laia needed her.

She forced herself to inhale between the short gasps, but it didn’t work.

Her throat tightened. She scratched at it, willing it to breathe, but it didn’t work.

She screamed finally, pulling her hair, not seeing, not hearing because her lungs, it didn’t work.

A familiar heaviness started to settle in her chest.

One second she saw the streets slowly fading away into darkness, the next, someone’s face filled her vision. The blue eyes struck her, but she couldn’t remember why. Or whose it was.

Her ears rang, but she couldn’t hear, “I can’t breathe—” she tried telling the man, but the words were distorted. It sounded far, far away from her. He cursed, and whipped his head to roar something at someone.

His hands shook as he scooped her into his arms, carrying her back into the car.

But Sher shook her head rapidly in horror.

“Not there,” she gasped, kicking against his arms.

“Sher,” the stranger pleaded, eyes frantically searching her face. But his voice, hitched in panic, must’ve mirrored hers.

She shook her head, desperately holding her ground, even as her sobs became feverish, even as her bleeding knees shook.

Everything around her started fading, until all she saw was the pair of blue eyes, serene like the sea. The world slipped under her and she was drowning in a haze of blue. The man shouted something at her, shaking her shoulders but even his words were drawled into a lull. Like lazy, comforting whispers.

Sher didn’t fight it this time.

When the familiar nothingness stole her, she almost sighed.


	10. waterloo sunset

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: There are mentions of domestic abuse and drug addiction in this chapter, so please tread carefully, loves.

——————————

Sher woke up to a familiar beeping noise. She opened her eyes and instantly winced at the bright light from the hospital room. Outside, the night sky was still a deep blue.

Groggily, she sat up.

“Sher,” a voice called out.

Sher turned around to find Laia’s pale face staring at her, shadows under her eyes, but alive.

Sher wrapped her arms around her knees and finally broke down. Her shoulders shook as relief flooded through her at the sight of her friend.

“Hey,” Laia smiled sadly, even as her lip trembled. Her hazel eyes roamed around Sher’s face and she frowned.

Without another word, Laia slipped into the bed beside Sher and they held each other, just like they used to in first year when the world seemed to run against them.

“Did it come back?” Laia croaked after a while, “The flashes?”

Sher nodded weakly but Laia only held her tighter.

Minutes passed before Sher finally had the guts to ask, “Did you…”

She saw the devastating look on Laia’s face and knew the answer. Sher stifled her own heartache to pull Laia into her arms and let her friend sob against her chest.

“I’m sorry,” Sher whispered gently, “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.”

“It was everywhere,” Laia’s face crumpled in pain, “And I just let it consume me. I… I didn’t know day from night. And God, I grew _so_ good at hiding it from everyone.”

Sher ran her finger down Laia’s hair in soothing motions, even as she recalled the first time it happened. It was one of the hardest time of their lives. When Laia lost herself to a group of users in first year, Sher had begged for her to stop. It was devastating her to see Laia’s bubbly personality replaced with a cold shell.

And it had taken everything to bring her back.

But Sher realized in that moment that she would risk burning the whole world down just to do it all over again. Because it was Laia.

“I should’ve never left,” Sher said quietly.

“No,” Laia pulled away to look at her, “I should’ve gone with you. And I’ll go wherever you go. Even if it means leaving Ezra.” But there was a painful look in Laia’s eyes that made Sher realize she would be miserable without Ezra too. She decided then and there that she would never make her choose between them.

Instead, she exhaled and uttered the thoughts that had been brewing in her mind the past few months.

“No, this is all my fault. You’re right. It’s a coward’s move to run off like I did,” She nodded at Laia’s wide eyes, “I’m going where you’re going too, boo. And if that’s with the band, then that’s where I’ll be.”

“You’ll leave New York?” and at Sher’s nod, a small smile began to form on her lips, “Thank god. I actually really hate it here,” Laia sniffled, “I lowkey wouldn’t know what to do if we’d stayed. Probably would’ve dragged your ass to LA.”

Sher gaped and poked her waist, but Laia continued with a teasing smile, “I don’t know how you manage it. I mean, look at this dingy ass hospital. Couldn’t you have passed out in the upper east side?”

Sher laughed and dropped kisses on her friend’s cheek, “Next time, I’ll review the area before I have a panic attack. Thanks for your concern on my well-being, by the way. Totally appreciate it.”

Laia snorted but pulled her closer, “Where were you going anyway last night?”

“To you, dumbass,” Sher wiped her cheeks with the sleeve of her hospital gown, “I was trying to get to you when I suddenly had a full on breakdown myself.”

“God, we’re a fucking mess, aren’t we?”

“Hey, trauma builds character,” Sher joked, because humour was their coping mechanism. The jokes reduced the monster under their beds into an annoying roommate. It made it liveable.

And the two of them spent the rest of the night curled up together, rehashing all the things they missed out on. They laughed and cried, sometimes simultaneously.

Sher realized then that they may be a little bit broken, but so was everyone else.

——————————

“We have to leave, now!” Laia shouted into Sher’s ears, startling her out of sleep.

“Fucking hell Laia,” Sher rubbed at her ringing ears, “Why is it always screams with you. Never quiet morning calls.”

“Get up, princess. Ezra and the band left this morning for their LA show. Our flight is in two hours,” She ran around the hospital room, packing her things.

Dawn had broke and the cool morning light streamed through the plastic curtains.

“I was wondering where a certain blondie disappeared to,” Sher frowned, her heart sinking a little, “He just left?”

“Oh no sweetie, no,” Laia’s laugh was dry, “You should’ve been there. Well, you _were_ , but you know, in a comatose and everything.”

“First of all, I wasn’t in a coma, don’t be dramatic. And what happened?”

Laia pointed to a spot on the wall that was clearly punched in, “That… was after Ezra told him his flight to LA was this morning. Freddie had to come and reason with him for a good twenty minutes before he finally calmed down.”

“He what?” Sher had expected some sort of concern, not a whole broadway performance, “That’s ridiculous.”

“ _Sher_ , you looked kinda dead. I think it was justified,” she shrugged.

She groaned, before her mind finally clicked, “Wait, two hours? I have to see David! I can’t just run, not after everything.”

“Then go now,” she practically dragged Sher from the bed, “Quick! I’ll meet you at the airport in thirty minutes. Go go go!”

Ten minutes of a drive later, she was in David Bowie’s front porch.

“I knew I couldn’t keep you, but I thought I’d at least have you for another month,” He sighed, hands in his pocket, a cigarette hanging loosely on his lips.

“You must stop by when you come to London. We’ll throw you a magnificent party and you can see all the washroom tiles in the world,” She said.

“I’m going to miss you, Sher,” He pulled her into a long hug, “How am I to survive this plastic city when the only people I like keep leaving.”

“You’ll be alright— just— calm down with the partying,” She kissed his cheek, before pulling out of the hug.

He just winked, “Well off you go, and have a splendousful time for me.”

“Splendousful isn’t a word,” she poked his chest.

“It is in the—”

“70s,” the two of them finished sadly.

Then Sher ran to her tiny apartment across the street, threw all her belongings into three suitcases and made her way to the airport.

After one final look at New York in its strikingly dingy yet vibrant scene, Sher left. She had a feeling it wouldn’t be the last time she’d see the city. But she knew it was the last time she’d view it as a New Yorker herself.

Something in her faltered a little at the thought.

But with Laia beside her, grinning and making inappropriate comments every two seconds, she quickly forgot to miss New York.

——————————

It was 1am when they reached the Los Angeles hotel. Sher and Laia had yawned through the whole taxi drive as they used each other as pillows.

When they reached the lobby, Ezra greeted them with a grin. His grey eyes brightened as he put his tattooed hands on Laia’s face, “That was one day too long.”

“Was it? If I recall correctly, you were the one who was too _sophisticated_ for phone-calls. So I don’t understand how—” Laia’s words dissolved into sighs when he put his lips on hers. Sher aww-ed at first, but when the kiss only grew more passionate, she decided to loudly clear her throat.

Ezra turned the colour of beet but said, “Alright Sher? Bet you’re just bloody dying to get some sleep.”

Sher uttered a sarcastic _ha-ha_ , and a soft “I wasn’t dead for fucks sake,” before they went up the floors to the suites.

“He doesn’t know you’re here, so I think it’s time we give him a proper shock,” Ezra’s eyes glinted with mischief as he pulled the key to Roger’s room, “Off you go Sher, and try not to pass out this time?”

Sher stuck her tongue out at him before going inside the suite.

Once inside, she hovered around the kitchen and considered if she should just stay in the living room couch again. What if there was another girl in his room? Sher didn’t think she could survive that. Not again. But curiosity, as it always did with her, won in the end. She cracked the door open and faltered.

For there, in a king-sized bed, was the softest view she’d ever seen.

Roger had pulled the sheets and rolled himself in it like a burrito. His blonde hair curled at the ends, pasted to his neck in a sweat. Sher suppressed the giggle from seeing how his long lashes made him look like the prettiest woman on earth. And he was alone, his suitcase still unpacked.

Sher took off her white sneakers and slowly tiptoed her way to the bed. She didn’t bother changing her clothes as she slipped in bed beside him.

The burrito man cracked open his eyes, his lashes fluttering open like butterfly wings.

“Sher,” he mumbled happily, before he unwrapped the sheets, pulled her into his arms, and re-wrapped the two of them inside the burrito fort. The warmth of his skin immediately felt like home.

She wrapped her arms around him, just as he slung one of his legs around hers. When he didn’t say another word, she realized he was fast asleep. She nuzzled her face to his chest, this time taking everything for what it really was. Sher breathed in, reminding herself that it was okay to stay. That she didn’t have to run before morning came. That he would _want_ her around when morning came.

Despite it all, she stayed awake until the dreaded dawn waved through the bedroom curtains.

Sher gazed around the room and saw the floral long-sleeves hanging on a chair, his pink converse lying on the ground, the sci-fi books on his nightstand, and smiled.

——————————

Roger woke up to the familiar scent of flowers and vanilla, but when he searched around the bed, he was all alone. He felt the pang of misery like a second skin stitched to his old one. He glared at the perfectly white ceiling, trying to channel all his anger to the one spot in the corner.

He knew he should’ve stayed in New York. He’d been awake all night, pacing and cursing, until he was too exhausted to stand.

The terrible memory of Sher, crying in a panic, continued to pester his mind as he shook the sleepiness away. He clenched his fists around the crumpled sheets and breathed. He wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but he caught the final look of relief on her face before she blacked out. As if it was as familiar as a second home. Instantly, he lost it and jerked into a sitting position.

It wasn’t just because it was Sher. It was also the fact that he knew that look. That same hopelessness that filled him then, found its way back to him again.

Roger threw a pillow at the chair beside his bed and saw it crash to the floor. He picked another pillow, readying to throw it at the mirror when the door cracked open.

“What?” he growled, still eyeing for the perfect shot.

“If you plan on trashing the whole suite and dragging my name as an accomplice, at least let me get one shot at that goddamn window.”

Roger whipped his head and his jaw dropped at the sight.

Sher had kicked the door open with her leg.

She was leaning against the wall, holding a filled coffee decanter in one arm and two white mugs in the other. Then his eyes caught his floral long-sleeves on her, the ends falling just below her thighs.

She raised her brows, wary, as if she needed his permission to enter the room.

Sher, in Los Angeles.

In his room.

Sher, with colour in her cheeks, the paleness from the previous night all gone.

“Come here,” he said softly.

And as she smiled, her goddamn perfect dimples brightened his world instantly. 

He couldn’t help it.

Roger shot to his feet, planning to meet her in the middle when Sher screeched, her eyes widening, “HOT COFFEE!”

He stopped so abruptly he fell back into bed. “Fuck,” he hissed when his back hit the metal frame.

She laughed, before placing the coffee down on the carpeted floor and strolled to him. It was muscle memory that made him reach for her just as she fell into his arms. The scent of vanilla filled his nose and he realized it wasn’t all a hazy dream.

Sher really was there.

He held her by her waist as she plopped herself gracefully on his lap. That close, it was practically instinct for him to lean into her lips. But the thought of the previous night made him pull away.

Instead, he rested his forehead against hers and asked quietly, “What happened last night?”

Sher glanced at the ceiling with trembling lips.

He couldn’t bear another second of it, of seeing her like that.

“It’s fine,” he said quickly, cupping her face in his palms, “You don’t have to tell me.”

But Sher sighed and her eyes looked so tired Roger wondered if she’d slept at all since they last saw each other.

“It’s not a fun… tale to tell,” She played with the buttons of his shirt, taking a lungful of air before she whispered, “when I was four, my mom…” she inhaled, “she used to lock me in our basement closet for days… when I was too much for her.”

He shut his eyes and cursed. 

Anger and sorrow filled him instantly. How could the world take everything beautiful and burn it with such vile ferocity. He didn’t understand why it kept happening around him. It was too much.

When he opened his eyes, Sher was looking at him, waiting. He didn’t have the words, so he just nodded at her to continue.

“It was dark and cramped. And I used to struggle… breathing… after the first nights. The panic of yesterday, and the dark cab must’ve— it must’ve…” her words trailed into quiet nothingness.

“I’m sorry,” the words felt pathetic, but what else could he say? Words couldn’t encompass his true sorrow.

She wiped her nose and shook her head, “No, it’s okay. She never wanted a kid, I get it. And it’s true, I was always too loud and nosy,” she laughed weakly, staring at her hands.

He tipped her chin up to face him, before saying as firmly as possible, “You were a child, Sher.”

At that, her throat bobbed and single sob escaped her lips before she closed her eyes. He thought he’d lost her again, but she straightened her spine and when she looked at him, her eyes were clear, focused.

“I know,” she said, “I know. I just don’t understand. I can’t remember what I did to… she just… it was always out of nowhere, you know?” she said so void of emotion, so matter-of-factly that it only made it all worse.

and it took all the effort in the world to utter it, but he did. 

“I know.”

Her eyes shot to his in confusion, frantically searching his face in horror. Then, he watched in a torturous slowness the moment she understood.

“No,” she bit her trembling lips but eventually broke into soft cries against his chest, “No.”

Roger didn’t say anything. He just held her tighter in a quiet numbness.

In a voice so raw, she croaked, “I fucking hate the world sometimes.”

When his vision started blurring he plopped his chin on her head and sighed.

“Me too,” he whispered so softly into the world.

The morning light almost felt vile. It shouldn’t be shining that gloriously when the two of them were still roaring with so much pain.

But Roger knew, as she shoved the curtains closed and pulled him back to the bed, as the two of them held each other until they fell asleep, that they’d heal. One day at a time.

Despite the horror and sorrows, they’d endure.

One day, at a time.


	11. now i'm here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been one of my favourite chapters to write. i'm so excited to finally be posting this! Expect the promised 70s glam, fluff and rowdy banters <3

—————————— 

“He didn’t tell you anything?” Sher said as she brushed green mascara on her lashes.

“Not a single word, but that’s Freddie for you. The man loves his surprises,” Roger said as he put on his denim jacket and bell-bottomed jeans. Sher had to really resist making a Britney reference as he strode past her to the kitchen. They’d spent the whole afternoon sleeping in after their talk, until Ezra barged in to forward Freddie’s message: _Dress casual but expect a glittering night under the stars._

“Does anyone else know? Or is this all him?” She shouted from inside.

“Only him I reckon,” he popped his head into the room, raised both brows and whistled at her, before disappearing again.

Sher snorted but pulled up her neon-green crop top. The bright and wild colours of the 70s were funky and glorious, especially when she paired them with a classic white miniskirt.

She scanned the room for her white sneakers and groaned when she couldn’t find it.

“Roger,” she shouted, “have you seen my sneakers?”

Again, that head popped into the room, but this time with a cunning grin, “you mean your trainers? Because I thought we’d trade tonight.”

Sher realized what that meant and squealed as she happily put on his pink sneakers. They were a roomy fit, but Sher adored the way the glitter reflected off the wall like sparkling diamonds.

“Suits you just as much as yours suits me. I’m stealing these,” he grinned and walked to kiss the top of her head, “Ready Sher?”

“I won’t be blindfolded, will I?”

“Only if you ask me to,” he smirked cheekily, making Sher’s jaw drop.

“Not like that!” She quickly said, mostly because her cheeks were heating up in a fluster.

They rushed outside the door giggling about what the rest of the band would wear. Bets were placed on a certain _somebody_ sporting clogs.

When they reached the lobby, Sher was struck by the kaleidoscope of people in bright blues, greens and yellow outfits. She’d grown used to it, especially with the daily make up and mingling with New Yorkers. But seeing a large crowd with their big hairdo, hoop earrings, and bell-bottomed pants was downright dreamy. Coloured shades were everywhere, despite the late evening sky. She’d even stolen one from Roger’s insane collection, and he’d gone fully smitten at the sight of her with it.

“Hot damn!” Laia hollered as she appeared from the crowd, wearing a flowy floral dress and orange circular shades.

“Back at you fairy princess,” she kissed her cheek and waved at Ezra, whose red hair was clearly hair-sprayed into smooth, wet waves.

“Hey Rog,” Laia teased, “how’s the arm?”

“Less purple now that it’s got time to heal, but thanks for the concern Laia,” he shook his head and laughed.

“Next time, maybe aim at the pillow?”

Clearly, Sher missed the progression of their friendship when she was unconscious. She never really thought that the two of them, out of anyone else, would’ve bonded over her trauma. Figures.

“How did he react? Don’t spare any details,” Ezra said to Sher as the other two fell into easy conversation.

“Oh, it could’ve gone sour so quick, you don’t even know! Hot coffee was almost involved,” She bit her lips from trying not to laugh.

“What happened?” Ezra gasped, half in horror, half in amusement.

“Uh—” Roger interrupted quickly and covered her mouth with his hands, “I guess you’ll never know, right Sher?”

She laughed against his hands, trying to pry his fingers away and went for his waist, tickling her way out. He conceded instantly but went to curl his arms around her waist, making Sher wrinkle her nose at him. She muttered a soft, “coward,” which only made his grin wider.

When Sher turned her attention back to her friends, Laia and Ezra were sharing a look at the sight of them. Sher never got to question them on it though, as another familiar face popped out of the crowd.

“Does anyone actually know where we’re going?” John, in his red-and-blue jumper, said to them. Then his eyes found Sher and he almost tackled her into a hug. Sher hadn’t expected _that_ out of John Deacon.

“Sher! You’re here!” His eyes glinted with a smug excitement that Sher couldn’t quite place, but she laughed into his shoulder anyway.

“Oi, Brian!” Roger shouted a second later, but she was still buried in John’s frizzy hair to see anything.

“Is that Sher?” and before she knew it, she was pulled into a group hug. It made her heart warm, realizing how loved she was by them.

Then Brian narrowed his eyes as he glanced between Roger and Sher, “No bloody way,” he groaned.

Sher looked at Roger for explanation but he mirrored her confusion.

A second later, Brian reached into his pockets and counted a stack of cash. Then he slipped them into John’s hands begrudgingly.

It finally clicked for Sher.

“You didn’t,” Sher gaped at the two of them in betrayal.

“No bloody way,” Roger said as he dramatically put his hand on his chest, “You bastards made a bet on us?”

“Hmm, yes,” John said simply before he raised a brow at Ezra.

Even Laia gasped when Ezra guiltily reached for his wallet, but it was not for the reason Sher was expecting.

“I told you _on_ them, not against them,” Laia groaned.

“Hey, she was off to New York, I had to re-strategize,” Ezra smiled at Laia’s frown before he pulled her into a kiss, quickly making Laia forget about the bet.

“Oh wow,” Sher shook her head at all of them, “The betrayal stings.”

“Brilliant group of friends we got here, huh?” Roger agreed, before their little group dissolved into chatters and mini conversations again .

Fifteen minutes later, a ruckus of car-honks led all of them outside. Still no sign of Freddie though, Sher mused. The night was warm enough for them to stroll around, so wherever they were going must be pretty far. Why else would they need the cars?

“Alright asshats, let’s go,” Ezra shouted and suddenly he was racing into the car park.

Roger must’ve realized something was up because he instantly pulled Sher by her hands and the two of them broke into a sprint towards the fanciest of the cars, a black Rolls Royce.

“Quick,” He bit his lips from laughing and ushered her in, “Go, go, go!” he commanded the driver.

“Roger!” she gasped, trying to open the door, “there’s still space for—”

But the car zoomed past everyone. Past the clearly shocked Brian and John. She could see a split second of Brian’s raised middle finger before they were speeding off to the Los Angeles streets.

“I can’t believe you just _ditched_ them,” sher gasped but then fell into bursts of laughter when he smugly nodded.

“Oh cmon, I’ve shared enough car rides with the rotters,” he ran his finger around her cheeks, “besides, you’re much prettier to look at.”

“Ah, we’ll never have a normal car ride, will we?” She laughed, then threw her arms in the air, “Well, what are you waiting for blondie? Come get me.”

His grin grew mischievous as he slid her over the smooth leather seat and into his lap.

Before Sher could reach for his lips though, his mouth brushed over the side of her neck. Her eyes shot open and she found him smiling smugly at her.

“Alright, cat?” he purred into her ears.

Oh, the man knew _exactly_ what he was doing. _It's on_ , she thought wickedly.

Because it was her turn to make him squirm as she let her fingers trail a path along his skin, dropping kisses as she went.

His throat bobbed and she kissed it. Then she planted soft pecks along his collarbone and watched him close his eyes, even as his breathing grew rough.

“Sher,” he hoarsely sang as her kisses grew feverish.

But the car pulled to a stop before she could go any further.

Roger groaned, Sher cursed. The driver sighed.

“That was barely a ten minute drive,” Sher whined as she moved from his lap and pulled the windows down.

Behind them, a row of cars trailed into a long line, but she couldn’t figure out who was in which car. In front, there were at most two cars, one of which had Laia and Ezra in it.

And ahead of them, on what looked like an empty parking lot, a gigantic screen stood gloriously. On the side, sandwiched between tall palm trees, multiple stalls bragged carts of popcorn, soda pops, and many assortment of candies.

“What is it?” Roger sighed defeatedly before he crawled on top of her to pop his head out the window. Then he chuckled in disbelief, “He booked the whole place for us, didn’t he?”

“No way!”

“Ah bollocks! We picked the worst damn car to watch a movie in!”

At that moment, a blue Volkswagen van swerved pass them, the driver honking just as the windows rolled open. The extremely smug faces of Brian and John popped out to glare at them.

“What’s that, Rog? Tinted windows? No cushion? Shoulda waited for us,” Brian slid his sunglasses on, while John coolly flipped them off. They watched as the van went on to gloriously honk their way to the front line.

With a sigh, they parked the Royce in a corner. Roger and Sher had to make the long walk walk of shame to the blue van.

Inside, Brian and John were already leaned back against their spacious trunk. At the sight of the piles of blankets and pillows, Sher cleared her throat.

“I just have to clarify,” Sher said to them, “that _I_ personally wanted to let you guys in the Royce.”

Roger shook his head at her in mock betrayal, “Scorned, by me own lady! What an atrocious fate.”

“Oh shut it Rog,” Bri rolled his eyes.

“Only if you scoot over, you wanker,” Roger said.

“No fucking way! Go over to Prenter’s van. The git has a whole trunk to himself.” Brian stretched his long legs with a smug smile.

“Yeah, he does,” John nodded rapidly, “Sher ought to stay here though, I’ve gotta tell you about this new riff.”

“Well _this_ , is where we part, Roggie,” Sher said before muttering “kidding, kidding” and pressed a kiss on his frowning nose.

“Where’s Freddie?” She asked the group.

A second later, the man himself appeared out of the dark.

In front of the great screen, Freddie stood proudly. His bohemian white shirt grew wings around his sleeves.

He tapped his microphone, “Hello hello! How are you bastards doing tonight? I’m going to keep this short because some of you fuckers are impatient and I’m frankly not drunk enough to be standing here. So tonight… is a night to celebrate Queen.”

Sher raised a brow at Roger who shrugged back at her.

He slung his arms around her and they leaned against the van as they watched Freddie.

“You see, some of you might remember the tosser, our old manager, the one true asshat, Norman Sheffield—” which earned a unified boos from the crowd, “—well he can go fuck himself because we have found ourselves a new manager. As of tonight, Queen knows no Sheffield. We are now in the golden hands of the one and only, John Reid!”

The crowd gasped and cheered, the word _Elton John_ whispered around like fire. Sher smiled as the three men around her roared around in relieved smiles. Roger even leaped into the air to yeehaw, which should’ve shocked her, but she was getting used to the odd antiques of Roger Taylor.

Sher knew, of course, that Reid would eventually leave the band. He’d prioritize Elton over Queen one too many times, and they’d bid him goodbye. But that wouldn’t come for many, many years. And as of that night, Queen was about to be filthy rich and successful.

So Sher shrugged and kissed Roger back when he reached for her.

“Now off you go, darlings. Drinks on stall 2, drugs on 1, have a fucking great night,” Freddie bowed, ever the theatrical queen, and the crowd responded with cheers and roars.

“I’ll go get us that promised drinks and drugs,” Roger announced before whispering, “Bri’s weakness is his clogs. John, I see you’ve already won over. Go get us that corner spot, cat. Outsmart them.”

Sher snorted aloud, but gave him a conspirator's nod, “On it, blondie.”

It took her one second to get the corner spot beside John. The two of them quickly fell into discussions over the magic of disco and future musical influences while Brian looked aghast from his corner.

When Roger came back with his hands full, Sher had to leap out of the car to help him carry some of it. Amongst the assortment of candies and chocolates were two 6-packs, three large buckets of buttered popcorn and three rolled cigars. He pulled on his world-famous grin and offered the treats to the guys as peace offerings.

John was won over instantly, picking on the chocolates, but Brian stubbornly refused. Fifteen rowdy minutes later, after Roger threatened to sit on top of Brian and John called them immature, the four of them were finally squeezed comfortably into the van.

Brian sat at the only corner that allowed his long legs to extend comfortably. John, beside him, was leaning on three different pillows, the beer and popcorn snuggled in his arms. Sher scored the other corner spot and crossed her legs so Roger could let his head rest on the pillow on her lap.

When the movie title, Clockwork Orange, appeared, all three guys instantly cheered and sat up.

“This is the ultimate best film of all time, you’ll see,” Roger said as he batted his lashes up at her from her lap.

“He says for the seventieth time,” John whispered.

Sher laughed and ran her fingers softly around Roger’s hair, sorting out the knots absentmindedly while her eyes stayed glued to the screen. Beers were passed, popcorns spilled and unending amount of fun facts shared. The latter was supplied mostly by Roger and Brian, while John and Sher shared knowing smiles and nods. As the temperature dropped, they piled on the blankets, trading cold beers with spiked hot chocolates.

At one point, Sher and Rog switched places because he wanted her to have “better views”. Not a single person in that car bought the lie of course. But Sher didn’t complain when he plopped her on top of him and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. She giggled, the drinks making everything light and easy as she leaned against his chest. He kept whispering fun facts in her ears until he started slurring them, his breath smelling sweetly of beer and cigar.

When the movie ended and Jaws started, she realized both Brian and Roger were already fast asleep. Sher stifled her laughter when John started slipping popcorn into Brian’s curly mane. It looked absurdly like a tree dotted with white pears.

Then the movie got too terrifying and both John and Sher had to pull their blankets up to hide the screen from their eyes.

After another hour, Sher carefully untangled herself from Roger, but when he stirred awake, she dropped a kiss on his warm cheek and whispered, “Checking up on Laia.”

“Come with you,” he slurred, trying to open both eyes, unsuccessfully.

“S’okay, I’ll be back.” She definitely didn’t realize how drunk she was until she stepped out of that van and almost rolled to the side. After the slowest walk ever, she finally reached Laia and Ezra’s car and saw the two of them definitely _not_ watching the movie. She knocked on the window, because she was a decent human, and the two of them sprang away from each other.

“You guys okay? We have a lot of drinks and food over at the blue van if you guys want some,” She grinned innocently, seeing how red they’d just turned.

“We’re good, Sher,” Laia said pointedly, “We’ll— uh— see you at the hotel?”

Sher laughed but nodded.

She was heading back to the van when she spotted Freddie in a red Chevrolet, sipping on champagne, alone.

“Freddie,” she poked at him from behind.

“Ah Sher! You’re here in L.A.?” He grinned and slapped the seat next to him, “Come, you must tell me everything. I’ve also got the best champagne.”

She slid into the car and took a huge gulp of the glittering bottle and blanched, “Sour,” she let out.

“But expensive, darling” he winked, “and they say the best things are free. Well I think they haven’t got the money to see otherwise.”

Despite the fogginess, she realized something was off about him.

“Why don’t you join the guys at the van? Come with me,” She asked casually.

He shrugged, “Better views here, I suppose.”

At the clear lie, Sher finally asked, the drinks making her blunt, “What’s going on, Freddie?”

“Nothing, my dear,” but his smile was forced, “I have a beautiful car, fantastic champagne and now good company. What more can I ask for?” and yet there was a bitterness to the words.

Sher nodded hesitantly, because she wouldn’t want to pressure him into sharing anything he wasn’t ready to share.

She moved to leave, but he quickly said, “Will you stay here for a bit, dove?”

“Have to go back— Roger’s…” she mumbled but when she saw the somber look in his eyes, she paused and said, “But I’ll stay for a bit, yeah? You’ve got better views after all.”

She didn’t ask where Mary or Prenter was. Instead, she held his hand, clenching them every so often to remind him she was there. And the two took swigs of the champagne until even the movie became a blur of scenes. Her eyes drooped into a comfortable sleepiness.

She must’ve fallen asleep for a good while because the next thing she knew was the feel of strong hands shifting her around the car. She cracked open an eye, saw the familiar locks of blonde and fell back to sleep knowing she was safe. Roger had plopped himself into the middle spot and draped a fluffy blanket over the three of them. The next thing she remembered was the soft chatter between the two of them as she leaned her head on Roger’s shoulder and dozed off.

Then she felt the same strong hands carrying her out of the car, still wrapped in the fur blanket. She didn’t even remember the drive home. Just the brief memory of stripping out of her clothes in their room and crawling under the cover of heavy blankets as an equally sleepy Roger pulled her back into his arms.

And the both of them fell asleep instantly, blissfully.


	12. hijack my heart

🎧 _the only thing by sufjan stevens_ 🎧

Sher felt rather than saw the morning.

She felt the red imprints of sunlight against her closed eyelids, felt the silky bed sheets rustle against her bare skin.

The only movement was Roger’s fingertips as they trailed lazy circles around her back, following the spots he’d kissed months ago. It felt like an eternity had passed since the last time they were tangled up together like that.

The morning cold crept up her toes but in his chest, she was warm. Safe. She tugged him closer.

Quietly, as if worried he’d wake her, his arms scooped her up into a cozy snuggle. He rested his chin above her head and she felt him kiss the top of her head. Her heart melted at the softness, at the quiet affection. It was a precious moment, one she wanted to capture and live in for eternity. The thought of eternity made her gulp and she decided playtime was over.

Sher rubbed her nose against his chest.

“Morning, blondie,” she whispered, finally opening her eyes.

His dark lashes fluttered softly, but his eyes stayed close, even as the shadow of a smile crossed his goddamn angel-face.

She pulled out of his arms to sit up but was instantly pulled back into his chest. His smile grew into a cheeky grin as he locked his legs around her, preventing her from going anywhere, “One more minute, hmm?”

Sher laughed and kissed his nose, finding it all exceptionally adorable, “You have a soundcheck in an hour, goldilocks. Might want to go before the band fires you.”

At that, his eyes finally opened and Sher saw the ocean blue glimmer and glitter at the sight of her.

“And where are you off to?” His fingers continued to trail a path around her back.

“Actually,” she grabbed his wrist, knowing his watch was still strapped there from yesterday, “Fred’s room in… thirty. We’re brainstorming his make up look for the Montreal gig tomorrow.”

He sighed into her hair, “Thought I could keep you for another hour at least. He better be paying you overtime.”

She chuckled into his chest, “Coffee?”

“I got it,” he kissed the top of her head and untangled his legs from hers as he sat up, “You go get ready for that rotter. Besides, I know how to make the meanest cup of coffee,” he grinned, smug as a cat as he raced to the kitchen.

After Sher had showered and stolen the blue sweatshirt he wore months ago, she strode into the kitchen. Roger was hunched over the kitchen counter, humming as he stirred two cups of coffee.

When he caught her slipping into his view, he had to double take, before protesting, “I was going to wear that today.”

“I’ll trade it for my green top?” She offered sweetly.

“What, that wee thing from yesterday?” He pushed a mug of creamy latte into her arms, “As what, an arm band?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, before taking a sip of the richest, thickest latte. She instantly shut her eyes and sighed, savouring the incredible beauty of caffeine. When she flicked her eyes open, he was leaning against the counter, staring at her through his lashes, his lips pulled into a quiet smile.

“What?”

“Keep the jumper,” he nodded once and chuckled to himself.

She resisted the sudden urge to kiss that one corner of his lips. To watch it blossom into a wide grin. Because she knew, if she did, they’d be useless for the rest of the day. And despite everything, she still felt the uneasiness creep up her throat.

So she pointed to the cup and simply said, “I’m bringing this baby with me,” before sprinting out of the door, leaving Roger looking scandalized from the abrupt exit.

“But _I’m_ the baby,” Sher heard him whisper to himself.

But just as she closed the door, she heard his low chuckle and knew that this time, it was different. He’d trust her to stay.

It only made her heart weigh heavier as she strode towards Laia’s room.

—————————— 

Sher escaped the terrible chore of having to find Laia’s room among the fifty floors when she ran into her in the hotel hallway.

“I was just looking—” Sher’s voice faltered. Instantly she knew something was wrong.

Laia’s cheeks lacked its usual cheerful colour.

Laia sprinted the last few yards to her, sweat beading down her forehead.

A pile of vinyls sat haphazardly in her shaking arms.

Sher scanned her friend’s eyes for any signs… any telltales… “Laia oh God, did you—”

“No— It’s not that— I’m _clean_. But Sher,” her voice trembled, “Something’s wrong.”

Sher pulled her into a relieved hug, “Oh thank God you’re—”

“Sher, no. You don’t get it.”

“No, I know. I was looking for you. Listen, I don’t think— what we’re doing— I don’t know if it’s a good idea.”

“Forget about that for a second,” Laia glared at her hands and Sher finally looked at the vinyls.

They were all the same vinyl.

All nine of them.

Sher frowned.

“Uh, why did you get fifty copies of Bowie’s Station to Station?”

Laia ignored her as she frantically shoved all but one copy into Sher’s arms. She tore the plastic cover of the one and pulled the back cover in front of Sher’s face, “Which track plays after TVC15?”

Sher laughed weakly, trying to keep the vinyls from falling off her grip,“Laia—”

“Which. Track.” Laia’s eyes searched her face, as frantic gasps of breath left her lips.

“Stay.”

They’d played the whole album hundreds of time in their first year of university. It was practically imprinted in their minds.

Laia shut her eyes and with shaking fingers, raised the vinyl to Sher’s vision.

In an eerie slowness, Sher scanned the track-list.

And felt the world stop around her.

“Holy. Fuck.” Sher gaped at the album, then at Laia’s pale face, then back at the album.

She pulled another vinyl of her arms, flipped it over and whispered, “Impossible.”

Sher dropped to the ground, spread all nine albums on the carpeted hallway, flipping every single one.

All of them, identical.

But, all of them, _wrong._

“Where is Stay, Laia?” she said, deadly quiet.

“It doesn’t exist,” she breathed shakily, “Stay doesn’t exist here.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Sher felt a chill crawl down her spine.

“Sher,” Laia gulped, her eyes uneasy, “I think the timeline has changed.”

—————————— 

“Did we do this?” Sher sat on Laia’s bed, her knees too weak to stand at that moment.

“I think so? Nothing else changed but us,” Laia closed her eyes in exhaustion.

“But fake Marilyn said we can’t change the future, no?”

Laia shook her head slowly, “She never said that, Sher. She never confirmed if we couldn’t or could.”

“So what do we do?” her voice came out shrill.

“Queen’s next stop is Montreal,” Laia looked at Sher grimly, “But I think we should go to Toronto.”

“Go home? What for?”

“To figure this out. Who knows what else is different. I have a feeling we were only told a small portion of the truth.”

“What are you saying?”

“I have my suspicions, but let’s pray I’m wrong,” at Sher’s raised brows Laia sighed, “Remember when we asked Ryan about alternate universes?”

“You mean at that halloween party in second year? When we got high off our asses? Because it’s a big fat no for me.”

Laia groaned, “I just remember bits, but I’m no expert at this either.”

Something clicked in Sher’s head and she sat up, “But I know who is.”

Sher pulled a limp Laia from the bed by her arms, “Come on, Laia. We need to go to the soundcheck. And then, fucking Toronto.”

—————————— 

Sher drove while Laia spread a map on Ezra’s car dashboard.

“If we leave tonight, we can catch them at the Rainbow gig this Friday,” Laia thumbed the schedule in her other hand.

“No, I can’t miss the LA and Montreal gigs,” Sher tapped the steering wheel, “What if we leave right after I finish Fred’s look? After the Montreal show tomorrow, we fly to Toronto?”

“We’re gonna have to leave before the show ends to catch the flight,” Laia folded the map when the car skidded to a stop.

The concert hall for the Los Angeles gig that night was considerably smaller, and as they walked further in, the lack of light made it look like an abandoned warehouse.

Sher saw a grim-faced Brian near the stage, bickering with John. Roger and Freddie were nowhere to be seen.

“If you’re looking for that gormless git, he’s not here,” Brian grunted.

John rolled his eyes, and said to Sher, “He’s up with Fred, having a smoke after the most _ridiculous_ argument with Bri.”

“Ridiculous—” Bri’s eyes bulged as he glared at John.

“Actually,” Sher quickly intervened, “We’re here for you Bri.”

At that, Brian tipped his head to the side, “Oh,” he unstrapped his Red Special and leaned against the stage, “What’s going on?”

“Yeah, it’s going to sound lunatic, but we um, have scientific questions—”

“From one science kid to another.” Laia chimed at his furrowed brows.

“You girls did science?” Brian lit up like a candlestick.

“Nah, I did media, but Laia—”

“Premed,” Laia nodded absentmindedly.

“What are you guys doing with a rock band then?” Brian asked.

Sher, who by then had already explained the situation twice, sighed, “Yes yes, we’re doing the whole rock band detour for the thrill. But we’ll eventually go back to our majors.”

John chuckled from the side, and Sher winked at him, both of them remembering of that night at the balcony months ago.

“So,” Laia asked, “What’s the current theory on alternate universes and uh- time travel?” she said the last words weakly.

Brian’s mouth flung open, while John grinned and took a long drag of his cigarette, clearly entertained at seeing Brian so floored.

Then Brian narrowed his eyes and pointed at Sher “Did Roger put you up to this?”

Sher gasped, offended, “Wow, what am I to you? His evil minion?” at his silence, sher pressed on, “No way. Is that what everyone sees me as?”

Instead of denying, the two of them looked at each other, confirming what they wouldn’t admit. Before Sher could go on a long-winded protest though, Laia quickly shoved her aside.

“Okay, anyway, while sher here has a mini identity crisis,” she cut through Sher’s glare with a grin, “What’s the verdict on time travelling?”

“Well, uh, interesting question there. Um, Einstein’s theory of special relativity does propose that gravitational force has the ability of bending time. But Hawking’s Brief History of—”

“Brian Harold May,” John shook his head and gestured at them, “read the room.”

He finally noticed the two confused faces staring back at him.

“Totally understand that,” Laia smiled sheepishly, “but um, just to clarify, if one hypothetically time travels back in time, can their actions change the future?”

“Hmm, changing the past can create paradoxes, so I doubt it,” he scratched his head, messing up his perfect curls, “Unless you take in the multiverse theory where—”

Sher gaped and slapped Laia’s arm, “Multiverse! Like Endgame! Of course!”

Laia nodded thoughtfully at Sher, “So the old universe exists and remains untouched, as if we— as if nothing ever happened? But in the new timeline, things can change because the timeline has split into a different one?”

“Uh yes, you’re right actually” He raised his brows, looking quite in awe at Laia, “but of course, time traveling itself only works in theory.”

“What do you mean?” Laia asked.

“Theoretically it’s possible. But impossible to truly occur. You need to travel faster than the speed of light, which requires infinite amount of energy.”

At that, Laia gulped, “Well, that’s not good, but thanks anyway Bri, you genius.”

“Well, whatever hell you two are raising, do loop me in,” John grinned as he tuned his bass guitar.

“Don’t worry, we’re not about to split our souls into seven pieces or anything,” Sher winked at Laia, who snorted at the blank faces staring back at them.

“You’ll get it in a few years.” Laia sighed before shaking her head at Sher.

“They’ve gone mental, haven’t they?” John whispered to Brian, “Look what you’ve done.”

“Girls have always been the maddest of us all,” Brian said, ruffling both Sher’s and Laia’s hair, “but whatever will we do without you lot.”

Sher and Laia beamed at his words.

“What’s this then?” Roger walked to them, his eyes narrowed, “Don’t engage the enemy, Sher, Laia. He’ll claw your eyes out when you’re not looking.”

Sher saw the way his forehead bore angry lines as he scrunched up his brows at Brian.

She quickly nodded her goodbye at Laia and strode to Roger’s side.

“Hey,” she murmured, her thumbs reaching to softly massage the knots and stress on his forehead, “you alright?”

His glare softened into a quiet stare when his eyes found hers.

Then he buried his face in her hair, muffling the words, “Brian’s a fucking tool.”

“Hey,” she kissed the top of his head, “Some fights aren’t worth going to hell for.”

“Ugh,” He grunted but she noticed he was calmer as he pulled her hand, “Come, I’ll show you my new kit.”

—————————— 

From the top of the stage, the concert hall looked like a swell of darkness. Sher winced at the bright white lights glaring down only at the stage. It was the famous multicoloured light show, after all. A Queen special.

“I didn’t know it gets this bright from up here,” she said as shades of blue and reds roamed playfully around them.

“And people still wonder why my eyes are so rotten,” he sat at the stool, surrounded by his drum kit.

“Ah, will you play me a song, Mr Taylor?” she chuckled when he started hitting his drums absentmindedly.

“An assortment of hi-hats and tom-toms coming up, only for the coolest cat,” he puckered his lips in the air to blow her a kiss.

“Sassy much?” she laughed and watched as he started a drum solo.

He never lost his focus. His lips continuously counting to stay on beat. By the time his two minute solo was over, a sheen of sweat had covered his face.

“Impressive,” she crooned, “but let’s test how well you can drum when you’re… _distracted_ ,” Sher whispered the last word in his ears.

“What do you—” Roger smiled, amused.

But Sher didn’t let him finish as she slid into his laps, hooking her legs around his waist, and purred, “Now play it again, blondie.”

He gawked, utterly stunned as he kept opening and closing his mouth.

“What?” she tipped her head to the side, “too much for Roger Taylor?”

He bit his bottom lip, clearly trying to keep his cool. His eyes narrowed into focus and— without saying a word— he pulled her closer, shifting her around his lap, and rested his chin on her shoulder.

Then, Roger stuck his arms out and began hitting a steady beat on his drums. All the while, his eyes never left hers. Even as his lips moved to count the beat.

He was the picture perfect of a smug lion, blonde locks flying around his sweat-slicked face.

Sher couldn’t resist it, not as his eyes grew hazier. Not as he looked at her like _that_. Like she was a star-sprinkled night sky and he was the moon.

She leaned in to kiss him, tasting coffee and cigarette on his soft lips.

Her hands roamed into his hair, and his lips left hers once to mutter a soft _holy fuck, Sher,_ before he kissed her. Hard.

That made her hesitate. Because they were in public. And things were escalating way too fast.

She pulled back and realized his eyes were glazed with the same fire that was probably in hers.

“Well fuck,” she frowned, “I didn’t mean to… we _can’t_ … You have a show in an hour.”

He groaned, knowing it was true, but dropped the drumsticks to pull her into another kiss, “One for the road?”

She knew she shouldn’t, but all rational thoughts seem to disappear when he’s holding her like that. So she swept in for one last kiss.

The two of them were out of breath when they pulled out of it.

“Fuck the after party, we’re staying in tonight,” he growled into her ears in the softest, high-pitched tone.

Sher bit her lips from laughing and nodded, touching her forehead to his, “Alright, but let’s go. Before anyone becomes suspicious.”

As they walked back, Roger’s arm curled around her shoulder and he asked, “So what did you talk about with that tall rotter?”

“First of all,” she looked at him with mock disappointment, “tall rotter? That’s the best insult you came up with? He’s tall?”

“Hey!” he tapped her nose, “Don’t get too cheeky. That’s _my_ thing.”

“Whatever, blondie,” she smiled halfheartedly as her thoughts shifted back to the conversation with Brian, “but yeah, I need to tell you something, but it can wait until after the gig.”

He stopped to look at her, concern lacing his words, “What’s going on?”

“Ah, I guess I might as well say it now,” she spoke quickly, “i’m going to Toronto tomorrow—oi, listen to me— after the Montreal show, Laia and me will fly to Toronto.”

He whined, “But you—”

She held his cheeks, “Hey, we’ll meet you at the Rainbow gig. It’ll barely be three days.”

“Is it safe? Just the two of you? I’ll ask Ezra to come—”

“Love, I’ve been travelling solo half my life,” she smiled and saw the way he positively melted at her pet name, “Don’t you worry about me.”

He snorted, but closed his eyes as he said, “Alright, Sher. Just— this time— you promise three days won’t stretch into three months?”

Sher leaned away, not realizing he was thinking of the last time she’d left. She felt the heaviness of the whole situation more apparent than ever. Because she would eventually leave.

Sher gulped, and— knowing her words will come out trembling— chose to kiss his cheek. “I won’t,” she breathed.

He smiled and walked off to join the rest of the band. Before he reached them though, the drummer from Queen shook his ass at her, and turned around to wink after seeing her doubled over in laughter.

“Thot,” she called out to him.

The man of her dreams blew her kisses before he left to talk to Freddie.

“You told him?” Laia appeared out of the shadows of the dark hall, making Sher jump out in terror.

“Bish, don’t ever do that again,” then Sher sighed, “and yeah, I told him. Did you tell Ezra?”

“Yeah,” the same crestfallen look was mirrored on Laia’s face, “I’m starting to despise this plan.”

“Me too, Laia. Me fucking too.”


	13. god save the queen

“I’m going to miss this,” Laia shouted into Sher’s ears.

From backstage, they watched as Freddie’s bright outline conquered the stage against the sea of crowd. It was, pun intended, a kind of magic.

Every so often, the lights would target parts of the crowd and the plain darkness would transform into faces. Grinning faces, awed looks, tearful smiles, all screaming words back at the world. 

A sudden sadness washed over Sher and she sighed, resting her head on Laia’s shoulders.

Laia rubbed her eyes, as if she, too, realized just how lucky they were. And how precious the shows were going to be in a couple decades.

“I love how it’s _never_ boring,” Laia smiled sadly at the stage.

Sher reached for her hand and squeezed it. She was eternally grateful that, at least, they had each other. They were the only ones in the world who understood the bitter sweetness of the future.

“So you’re a Queen stan now, huh?” Sher teased.

Laia laughed, her eyes pooling with tears as she elbowed Sher.

The two of them chuckled and sighed through the show, pointing out the small details that they desperately wanted to remember.

Like the little _lovies_ and _darlings_ Freddie sprinkled as he addressed the crowd.

Or Brian’s proud grin as his long legs ran across the stage for his glorious one minute solo.

John, licking his finger, as a royal purple light shone on his phenomenal Liar bit.

And then there was Roger, twirling his drumsticks, pouring beer on his kit, screaming yeehaws and high-pitched notes at random times.

All of it— the mischief and glitter of Queen.

Laia and Sher pointed out everything to each other. Making a mental list.

When the final notes of Seven Seas of Rhye faded, a couple roadies rushed from the stage, almost crashing into Laia and Sher.

Their sweaty faces were pale as they argued nervously.

“Uh oh,” Laia looked at Sher.

Not one minute later, they witnessed the fall of the first stereo. It gave a good fight but Freddie’s legs were stronger. They winced as the second stereo fell with a louder thump a few seconds later.

“Oh shit,” Laia whispered. The rage on Freddie’s face was evident. He didn’t wait for God Save the Queen as he rushed out of the stage, chucking his earpiece into the ground.

Brian and Roger ran after him, the concern clear as day. She realized John had stayed behind to unplug his bass guitar.

When Roger spotted her, he faltered and glanced between her and a fuming Freddie, already out the door.

“Go,” she kissed his cheek, “he needs you guys.”

He looked pained as he said, “I’ll try to get back early to you—”

“Hey,” she smiled, “It’s fine. Stay with him tonight.”

He closed his eyes and nodded. Sher knew it was the right thing to do. It was unfortunate that they won’t get to spend the night before she’d leave for Toronto together, but Freddie needed him.

Roger kissed her cheek then ran after Freddie, catching up with Brian who’d stopped to tuck his Red Special in its case. John strode after them, rubbing his face as he too followed the rest of the band out the door.

But inside the hall, the crowd chanted God Save the Queen in an eerie irony.

——————————

Roger thanked the young roadie and unlocked the door. It croaked loudly and he winced for two reasons.

One, it was 3am.

Two, it wasn’t his room.

After the band had gone for a smoke to calm Freddie down that night, he had rushed to his room only to find it empty and untouched. He knew exactly whose room he needed to go to, of course, but not which floor it was. So he’d gotten hold of an especially unlucky roadie and made the poor guy find Laia’s room.

He laughed softly when he saw Sher sprawled on the sofa, fingers stained with ink, but fast asleep. Papers and maps were scattered around the table and an empty mug sat on the wooden floor.

Roger took a second to memorize the moment before it would be lost forever. Before she’d leave again. He wasn’t a fool to think he could keep anyone for long, especially someone like her. And he _did_ notice the hesitation in her eyes earlier that day, when she said she’d be back for him.

He pulled his hands out of his pockets and walked quietly to sit on the floor, resting his back on her couch. The air conditioner hummed softly, leaving him to his loud thoughts.

They all knew the reason for Fred’s rage wasn’t the muted microphone. He’d used it as an excuse to express whatever hell was brewing in his mind.

And Freddie had been acting off for the past few months. Whatever it was, he wouldn’t tell them. Not even Roger.

But Roger wasn’t thick. He’d seen the way Freddie’s eyes lingered on the men around him. And Roger didn’t bloody care if he wasn’t straight. He just wished Freddie trusted him enough to tell him. They were supposed to be best mates, after all. And he couldn’t stand seeing him suffering alone, no matter how hard Freddie tried to hide it from the band.

So the four of them had grabbed four mismatching chairs up the roof and smoked their asses off.

Because sometimes, pain was soothed by comfortable silence.

Roger didn’t know if it was enough that they were there for him, but he did notice the strain leaving Fred’s shoulder as the night got older.

And he knew they were there for Brian and John just as much as Freddie. Everyone was sick of all the touring.

Everyone, but Roger, apparently.

He wouldn’t admit it, but he’d rather be away on international tours than go home to being that famous kid from a small town. The kid whose dreams were bigger than his parents could ever imagine for him. He’d suffered through a biology degree to please them, but it was not him, not really.

And fucking hell, he loved the rotters. Even Brian. They were family in ways his own would never be. So he loved the touring.

But there were times when he felt like everything was flashing past him too quickly. Like it was all temporary— the fun, the drinks and nights out— someday it would all be history. And _someday_ was approaching faster than he’d wanted.

He was secretly terrified of losing everyone to time.

Roger groaned, pulling his knees to his chest. It was too much, he was exhausted but his mind was still too loud for sleep.

He turned around and poked Sher’s cheeks gently, “Sher,” he whispered but her eyes stayed close. He noticed the shadows under her eyes and frowned. She was working herself to the bone. And he knew he should let her rest.

But he couldn’t stand the silence. It was driving him mad. And he missed her, terribly. Missed the way she’d smile and make his world light and bright again. And how she’d always find something witty to say just to make him laugh.

He pulled at the strands of hair that seemed to always find their way to her face, running his thumb around her brows, “Wake up, cat. I need you,” he whispered the last words so softly.

At that, she finally stirred. But her eyes didn’t open as she smiled and mumbled, “You’re back blondie?”

He couldn’t help the grin that came from the stupid pet-name she’d given him. It was ridiculous how much it made him happy. But she could call him a rubbish bin and he’d still croon over it.

“You wanna go back to our room, fruitcake?”

“No,” she muffled still half asleep, “Wanna stay here, with you.”

He smiled softly, his heart warming at her words, “I’m here.”

She reached out to pull him closer, “Stay.”

“I am, you clown,” he kissed her forehead.

She shifted around the couch and tapped at the small space behind her. Roger chuckled when he realized she was making space for him. He rose from the floor and squeezed himself into the tiny frame, surprised that the couch could fit the both of them.

He kicked off his shoes and pulled her to him, feeling the warmth of her skin as she tangled her legs around his. As if she wanted to share the warmth with him, even if it meant she’d suffer through the cold of his skin for a few minutes.

Sher turned around to face him, but her puckered lips missed his and found his chin instead. Roger stifled a laugh, seeing her furrowed brows. She must’ve given up because she instead buried her head against his chest and was quiet for a few minutes.

Then her fingers started tracing aimless lines around his back. The same way he did to her just that morning.

“What mayhem were you girls up to here?” he asked, knowing she was awake.

She whispered into his neck, “World domination.”

And he watched as her goddamn perfect dimples bloomed with a sly smile.

He laughed into her hair, taking in the sweet vanilla scent, “Create a space for me in that new world, cat.”

She finally opened her eyes and scanned his face, concern suddenly grazing her honey-brown eyes, “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he sighed, “Fred’s… in a bad place. And John’s… drinking. And Brian’s getting on _my_ nerves. And I don’t fucking know how long this band will stay together at this rate.” He laughed humourlessly, staring at the wall as his fingers brushed her hair.

When he looked back, something sparkled in her eyes. Whether it was grief or quiet understanding he couldn’t decipher.

“Give them time, alright? They’ll all come around,” she said.

He didn’t say anything and found the wall exceptionally interesting all of a sudden.

“Are _you_ okay?”

“Hmm?” he grinned weakly, “Yeah, I loathe these sodding early flights.”

But the stubborn human wouldn’t budge as she quietly but fiercely said, “ _Roger_.” His name on her lips sounded so different. So soft. Everything seemed softer when she was around.

He was quiet for a long while, not knowing what were the right words to say. But eventually, he said it plain and straight. Without the bullshit, without the exceptional vocabulary that he didn’t have the energy to muster up.

“Everyone leaves,” he breathed the words, as his finger twirled a strand of her hair, “Everything falls apart eventually. So why try?”

She winced and opened her mouth but no words came out.

Roger tried to smile, but it was so exhausting to pretend. So he closed his eyes and let the thoughts wash over him once more. He was too tired to do anything else but concede.

But Sher did something Roger couldn’t have expected.

She shifted around to let _him_ fall into _her_ arms. To have him let go and have her catch him this time. He didn’t know he could do that— could have someone else handle him.

He tucked his head under her chin and exhaled softly. But he felt less alone in her arms.

“The world’s a fucking shit show and there’s nothing we can do about it,” he whispered into the night, “because everything fades and time waits for no one, Sher. So why try?”

Sher only said _I know_ repeatedly, as her fingers worked their way around his hair, untangling the stupid tangles and knots in soothing motions.

And in her arms, because he was too exhausted to do anything else, he eventually found sleep.

Because sometimes, pain was soothed by comfortable silence.

——————————

“Let him sleep for another hour,” Sher said to Ezra after noticing how dark Roger’s under eyes were, “Poor guy was just beginning to sleep when you came out.”

“Yeah, but picture my shock at seeing the both of you like that.”

Sher slapped his arm jokingly, “Excuse me? Must I remind you of that night at the movies?”

His mouth gaped open and it baffled Sher just how scandalized he looked. Ezra, with his auburn-dyed hair and full sleeves of tattoos, was shocked at her comment. As if the man wasn’t enough of a walking irony, he was also secretly a poet. At least that’s what Laia told her that day at the hospital.

After he poured coffee into their mugs, Ezra mumbled, “Hey, just saying that if I knew you guys would crash here, I would’ve given you the main room.”

Sher raised her brows, “Uh, no you wouldn’t.”

“Yeah,” he paused, before nodding, “You’re right. I bloody wouldn’t. My girl deserves better than to sleep in the sofa.”

Sher laughed as she packed her things for what felt like the millionth time that year, “Your character development is astounding, Ezra. But I appreciate your concern for Laia, so I’ll let it slide.”

Dawn hadn’t yet fallen, but their flight was a damning 4am one, so they’d have to outrace the sun itself to get to Montreal on time. Just another joy of touring the world, Sher mused.

Laia was still in the shower so the task of making half-assed breakfasts fell to Sher and Ezra.

The only sound in the dead-quiet morning was them shuffling around the kitchen.

“But seriously,” Ezra said as he slapped strawberry jam on a toast, “If you girls need me, promise you’ll call? I’ll be on the first flight to Toronto, I promise. And I know Laia—” he paused, smiling wryly towards the washroom, “—she’s too bloody stubborn to ever admit needing help, that girl. But you’ll take care of her, yeah?”

“Of course, Ezra.”

Sher bit her tongue, contemplating whether she should bring up the issue they’ve carefully circled around the past few days.

But she knew it wasn’t fair, and there was no better time to have it out than at that moment, when both Roger and Laia weren’t there.

“Hey,” she said tightly, “I’m sorry about what happened with Laia. I should’ve warned you about the drugs before I… left.”

He was silent, his gaze lasered on the plate of toasts like he could heat them from sheer will.

“I don’t care that you left, Sher. But you should’ve told me,” he said at last, the muscles on his arm clenching, before he said, “God, I was so fucking daft, bringing her into clubs and— fucking hell— even getting her the top shit.”

He attacked the crusts of the toast with a butter knife.

Sher knew that look. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine. _I_ left her, so it’s on me.”

“You weren’t there. You didn’t see the way she drowned herself in the shit. And I thought she was having a bloody good time.” He threw the crusts into a bin.

Ezra pinched the bridge of his nose, before sighing at her, “It’s just the withdrawals that I’m worried about. You know how it goes right? The nightmares and cravings?” he shut his eyes, as if he’d witnessed the worst of it in the past few days.

“Yes, I know what to do,” She said quietly, but when his frown didn’t disappear she said, “Hey, she’s tougher than you think. Trust me.”

“I know. I just… I worry,” he smiled sadly before sipping his piping hot coffee.

When Laia came out of the room, her eyes widened at the crust-free strawberry toasts and she reached to plant a kiss on Ezra’s cheek.

“My hero,” she said as she nibbled on the toast gleefully.

——————————

After Laia and Ezra left, Sher finally woke Roger up.

She watched as he shuffled through the hotel lobby and airport half-asleep, his hair a mess of blonde locks, his sunglasses glued to his face. But through it all, he kept his arms around her waist, even resting his head on her shoulder for a quick nap when they were lining up for the plane.

“At least someone is having a grand time,” Freddie snorted when he strolled past them on the plane and saw Roger fast asleep, his head on her lap. They had gotten the whole aisle all to themselves after all.

She didn’t know if it was the rockstar treatment or just the 70s era, but not a single flight attendant made them sit up in their seats.

And Sher was never a panicky flyer, but without a movie to distract herself, she grew antsy. The prospect of an eleven hour flight almost drove her into insanity. After two hours of torturous silence, even with an adorable golden rockstar sleeping on her lap, she couldn’t take it anymore. She pulled Roger’s suitcase from the top cabin and pulled out the first book her hands found.

Fortunately for her, it was 1984 and not one of the hardcore sci-fis he liked to read. She snorted at the severely-cracked spine and many dog-eared pages but flipped it open anyway.

“Brilliant book, innit?” Roger said almost seven hours later.

Sher slapped his shoulder playfully, “How long have you been awake, you nerd?”

His only reply was a sheepish grin.

When she went to put the book down, Roger frowned, “No, don’t stop for me. Go on, read it.”

It was also that same adorable frown that somehow convinced Sher to spend the next three hours reading 1984 to him. The power the man had over her was ridiculous. She didn’t even _like_ dystopian fiction.

As sunlight streamed through their small window, they took turns reading the hefty chapters. They read through the quiet hours, switching when Sher’s voice cracked or Roger’s faded to a sleepy whisper. Outside their dystopian bubble, the real world stirred and drowsy murmurs grew into boisterous laughter as roadies and crew members woke up.

Sher glanced around the plane and smiled.

Beside them, John and Ezra were debating the probability of getting cake for breakfast. Laia sat upfront, beside Freddie, whispering in his ear as they played what looked like a vicious game of Scrabble against a distraught Brian. After every hour that passed, a roadie would shout a countdown and a cheer of “Aye” would be followed by the chugging of travel-size alcohol.

Sher realized that her life would never be as interesting as that moment ever again.

It was bittersweet, knowing the moment would past and become an old memory one day. When she’d leave them all.

Sher sighed through the smile.

She didn’t realize Roger had stopped reading to look at her. His brows were furrowed with worry lines.

“What’s wrong?” He sat up to face her, his hands cupping her cheeks.

She shook her head sadly and instead said, “I claim that little spot as mine, okay blondie?”

“Which one?” his eyes trailed around her face.

“This one,” she kissed the top right corner, “there. It’s mine now. Even after you forget my name, that’ll always be Sher’s corner.”

He frowned, “Why do you say that? I’ll never—”

She shook her head, “Just kiss me, Roger. Make me forget.”

And every time he’d try to say something, she reached to kiss him. Over and over again. Until he was breathless.

He touched his forehead to hers but this time, he didn’t try to say anything. Not when each questioning look made her lips tremble.

“Don’t go, to Toronto,” he said, his breath warm against her face.

“I can’t.”

The look on his face broke her heart into a million pieces. She couldn’t stand looking at him like that, so she buried her head on his chest. Cigarette and cologne filled her nose and she wanted to call it home.

But could it be home?


	14. all dead, all dead

After brushing the final stroke of glitter on Freddie’s cheekbones, Sher grabbed Laia and they rushed to the Montreal airport to catch their flight.

They reached Toronto at 2am.

It was shocking, seeing downtown without the high-rise buildings and traffic. The glittering condo lights that would usually greet Sher like a welcome mat was absent.

“It’s so _bare_ ,” Laia muttered.

Sher nodded before turning to face Laia, “So what’s the plan? Why are we here?”

Laia bit her lips, “Here’s the thing. We don’t know if what we’re dealing with follows the rule of science, or if it’s just some wishy washy magic.”

“Okay? And how’s going home gonna help with figuring that out?”

“Why, Sher, you’re talking to a bright scientist in the making, you know. We’ll observe the facts. Gather a scientific hypothesis and determine the reality of this situation.”

Sher frowned, still not understanding, “but, why do we need to determine if it’s magic or science?”

Laia looked at her then, fire in her eyes as she said, “So we can beat it.”

——————————

They never went to the hotel Ezra had booked for them. Instead, they found a 24 hour Tim Hortons and sat there all night.

When the warm cup of Tim’s reached her cold fingers, Sher closed her eyes and sighed. The first sip was utter bliss. True to her dramatic self, Sher almost cried at the familiarness.

Beside her, Sher saw Laia sweet-talking her own cup. Sher caught her muttering, “I’ve missed you Timmy, oh the atrocious coffee I’ve had to settle for. Nothing compares to you, baby.”

The poor staff had to clear his throat before giving them their change, as if afraid to intrude the personal moment.

“My grandparents lived at Yonge, so we could head there first,” Laia said in between bites of her powdered donut.

“Your grandparents’ place? Why?”

“To figure out where we fit in this world,” she said, not meeting Sher’s eyes.

Sher ignored the odd look only because she noticed Laia’s trembling hands. She reached to firmly hold them in her hands before asking, “You okay?”

Laia shrugged, mumbling, “Just the withdrawal.”

Sher instantly left her seat to slide into the one next to her friend. She dropped her head on Laia’s shoulder and sighed.

“I’m here, okay? You need anything, just say it,” Sher said.

Laia only tapped Sher’s cheeks affectionately, “Thanks munchkin. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Hours later, Laia massaged her shoulder and said, “God, I miss having a constant place to go home to. And I miss sleep.”

“Seems like there’s not enough of that going around,” Sher said, recalling Roger’s words from the previous night.

“Why? Did homeboy keep you up?” Laia teased.

“Well I’m sorry, not everyone spends their nights discussing Dickens and C.S. Lewis. I can’t believe you haven’t ran out of literature to talk about at this point.”

“Hey! It’s riveting talk. Besides, he’s the first literature guy I know who has read Little Women. Do you realize how _incredibly_ rare that is? And you’re the one in the same program as them. You know how most of those guys are.”

Sher and Laia said at the same time, “ _Opinionated alpha males_ ,” and broke into soft chuckles at their inside joke.

“But Ez, he’s different,” Laia smiled softly at her notes, “He actually listens to what I have to say. And you know how logical I am about things? Well, he isn’t. He sees the world in this tender, almost emotional way. It’s… different.”

“Good different?”

“I don’t know,” Laia pursed her lips into a grim line, “I haven’t decided.”

“Hmm,” Sher paused, “And what does he think of the science nerd part of you? You better have tortured him with the Krebs cycle like you did to me that one cursed week.”

Laia snorted, “He’s the one pestering me with all the medical questions! The man’s even more curious than _you_ , oh God. The other day, he grilled me on how the heart muscles work. And then guess what I caught him sketching that night?”

“A possible new tattoo?”

“Apparently yeah,” Laia scrunched up her nose, “but stringy muscles make for a pretty gnarly tatt, no?”

Sher shook her head and smiled, “How did you, my science-nerd, sweetheart end up with a tattooed, leather-jacket-wearing poet, I will never understand.”

Laia grinned “He _does_ get adorably flustered whenever I put on his leather jacket.”

“Really?” An idea began to bloom in Sher’s mind. “Oh wow, I know exactly what we have to do.”

“What?”

“We’re going shopping, girly,” Sher winked slyly, “After all of this, we’re gonna give your man the shock of his life.”

“Oh no, what’s brewing in that mind of yours now?”

“Oh, you’ll find out soon enough. And boy, it’s gonna be wicked.”

——————————

When the day broke, the two of them grabbed a fresh cup of Tim’s and, with bleary eyes, strolled down the street of Toronto with their two backpacks.

A few hours and multiple bus trips later, they stood in front of a brick-walled house.

“Ah, the Adair family mansion. I haven’t been here since I was seven,” Laia bit her lips.

“Alright then, here goes,” Sher said when Laia knocked on the door.

A woman with pink rollers in her white hair answered the door, “Yes?”

“Morning ma’am,” Laia said, complete with a plastic grin, “We’re looking for the Adairs. Is this their house?”

The woman raised her brows and frowned, “That’s a name I haven’t heard in a while.”

“Oh no, did they move out?”

The woman paused before sighing painfully, “Who did you say you were again?”

Laia must’ve also seen the morbid look on her face, because she didn’t answer her. Instead she stared back in a quiet horror.

Sher had to reach out to shake the woman’s hand, “We’re friends of the Adairs. We’ve just travelled from New York and thought we haven’t seen those lovely people in years!” Sher forced a friendly laugh.

The woman swallowed and said, “Ah you might want to sit down. Shall we talk over tea?”

Sher gulped. She looked to Laia, whose face was getting paler by the second.

“No,” Laia surprisingly said, even as her words shook, “I’m afraid we don’t have time.”

“Ah, well, I’m truly sorry to be the bearer of bad news but— the Adairs— there was an accident. An awful storm two years ago and,” the woman sighed, “the little ones were swimming when the tide rose and you know…” she gazed at the river for a good while before she continued, “we lost them that day.”

Laia sucked in a breath. Sher had to put her hands on Laia’s back to stop her from falling down the steps.

“I—” Laia tried to say, “did _anyone_ make it?”

“No, the whole family tried to save those poor babies—” the woman looked tired, as if she’d told the story countless times, but she still reached to hold Laia’s shoulder as she said, “I’m so sorry. I don’t know if you knew them well, but they were one of the loveliest friends to me.”

"Oh," Laia said. A second later she turned around and started walking away.

Sher briefly apologized and thanked the woman before she ran to catch up with her.

“Laia, wait,” she called out.

But when she looked at Laia, her friend was no longer in grief. Just cold, factual Laia, as she sat herself down on the grassy front porch.

Her fingers picked on grass blades.

Minutes went by until she finally raised her head from the ground to look at Sher.

That’s when it hit Sher.

“You knew, didn’t you? That they weren’t… that they won’t be here.”

Laia nodded, before breaking into a sigh. Her words were shaky as she said, “I suspected it after the Bowie album.”

“What do you mean?” Sher sat herself down beside her.

“Albums take months, sometimes years, to be produced. You meeting Bowie a month before he released Station to Station couldn’t have caused the change. It was always meant to be. In here, there’s no Stay.”

At Sher’s raised brows, Laia sighed again.

“Sher, we didn’t travel through time. We were sent to an alternate universe.”

——————————

“Back up,” Sher raised her arms, “Alternate universe?”

Laia nodded, “One where we wouldn’t have existed.”

“So, if we go to my grandparents’ house right now—”

“They wouldn’t be there either. Because in this universe, we can’t exist.”

Sher paused, “So your parents didn’t…”

“Not in our universe.”

At that Sher instantly pulled Laia into a hug, “So it’s all okay! Everything’s fine, Laia! The family you know and care about is in the other timeline.”

Laia shrugged, “I don’t know. I thought they just never came to Canada. Or that they married different people, you know? Other things to remove me from existence. Not fucking dead.” She pulled at a grass-blade and split it into two pieces.

“You’re right,” Sher paused, “I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”

Laia wrapped her hands around herself, “Yeah, it’s not a great headspace to be in. It’s not real, but it still hurts,” Laia exhaled and threw the torn grasses back to the ground, “So what next?”

Sher racked her brain before it hit her, “Wait! We won’t reach a loophole! The paradox Bri was referring to only applies to time travel. This changes that, no?”

Laia looked troubled but she nodded, “Yeah. We’re not fighting time. So there won’t be some future us that will travel back in time to drag us into an endless loop or anything.”

“So we can stay?”

Laia finally frowned, “Do you _want_ to stay, Sher?”

“I don’t know,” Sher said weakly.

“What do you mean you don’t—”

“There’s nothing waiting for me there, okay,” Sher muttered, “You’ve got family. Mine’s a disaster. But in here— I can have a family here— Roger and the band. And the make up industry likes my work. Damn it Laia, we can have a great life here. I’ll get us the best jobs in the indus—”

“I’m not staying, my love,” Laia said firmly, “that was never the plan. And you’re not a make up artist, Sher. You’re a media student.”

“I can settle for this life. It’s glam and exciting and it sure as hell pays more than journalism or whatever media is gonna get me.”

“But will this make you happy? Yeah, media is a tough career choice but each day, you come home so happy and proud of your work,” Laia frowned, “when the glitter and fame of rock and roll fades into a norm, will you be happy with what you have?”

“I don’t know,” Sher said truthfully.

“Don’t let the highs cloud your judgement, my Sher. You don’t belong here.”

“I can try,” she pleaded almost to herself.

Laia closed her eyes for a long minute. When she looked at Sher again, her face was crumpled into a painful defeat, “Then we’re going separate ways.”

Sher inhaled sharply. She knew it was coming, but it still hurt to hear it spoken.

“Why did we go here then? to Toronto? Why try to find this out if you were set on leaving the whole time?”

“To know that, if I’m leaving Ezra, it’s because I have no other choice. I can’t let my family think I ran off or died in the middle of nowhere. Not again.” Her lips trembled, “They almost lost me once, Sher. And it broke them, broke my little brother. I like Ezra but I can’t…” She struggled to finish the words.

Sher swallowed painfully, “So you’ve made your choice?”

“Yes,” Laia paused, “Come with me, Sher. Come home.”

“I don’t think I can,” she said instead, tears blurring her vision.

“So this is it then. After this, we lose each other forever?”

Sher didn’t say anything. The heavy unfairness of the situation was loud enough. There was nothing they could do. It would be unfair to make the other stay or leave.

The sun, casting its warmth on them, felt glaringly out of place. But the two girls held each other as they took the bus back to downtown Toronto. They finally crashed at the hotel Ezra had booked for them.

“Laia?” Sher said into the quiet afternoon when they finally slipped into bed for sleep, “For however long we have with each other, we’re going to make it the best time of our lives, okay?”

“Yes, Sher, of course,” came the soft reply.

“And Laia?” Sher tried to smile, “I didn’t ruin Bowie’s album, right?”

Laia laughed weakly and rolled over the bed to kiss her cheek, “No, you didn’t ruin anything, my sweet.”

——————————

“No,” Laia’s eyes widened.

“Yes,” Sher pushed the clothes into her hands, “Yes, yes, yes!”

“I’m gonna look ridiculous,” Laia groaned but she pulled the curtains of the dressing room to try them on.

“Ridiculously sexy, you mean?” Sher teased.

Around her, the store was brimming with teens and young adults. The only thing more outrageous than their slangs were their clothes. Sher adored it all. She couldn’t keep her eyes off the trench coats, fishnet stockings and other, far braver, fashion choices.

When Laia came out fifteen minutes later, Sher was stunned into silence. She just clapped slowly for a dramatic effect.

The leather pants hugged her hips like a second skin. But it was the velvet, off-the-shoulder top that made Laia’s green eyes sparkle with mischief.

Laia beamed at her reaction, “Lowkey, I thought this was gonna be a fail, but… I kinda dig it.”

“Okay, but how do you look sexy _and_ adorable at the same time? This isn’t fair,” Sher said through her grin.

“You think it’s cute then?”

“Cute?” Sher gestured at her, “Laia darling, it’s godly, heavenly, ethereal, extraterrestrial and I could go on and on.”

But Laia’s grin only morphed into a sad smile.

“What’s wrong?” Sher asked.

“What am I gonna do without you, Sher?”

“Oh girly,” Sher pulled her into a tender hug, “You’ll thrive with or without me. Because you’re a badass, powerful woman, okay? Besides, we promised. No sad talks. We’re gonna spend every last second having one hell of a time.”

Laia wiped her wet lashes and nodded, “Alright, you’re right. Should I get a leather jacket to match?”

Sher whistled, “Oh hell yes! Ezra’s so gonna freak out.”

And when Laia went back into the dressing room, Sher wiped the tears also pooling in her eyes. Because she did promise, no sad talks.

——————————

__  
🎧 _hey there delilah by plain white t's_ 🎧

__

“We’re too late!” Sher said when she heard the riff of Now I’m Here from backstage, “Fred’s going to murder me.”

But beside her, Laia only nodded absentmindedly. Laia’s eyes roamed around the dark backstage hall, no doubt trying to locate a certain redhead, Sher thought amusingly. 

But Sher spotted him first.

Ezra was carrying a leather stool towards the stage when he stopped in his tracks. She saw the split second of confusion as he searched around for Laia, only to gape when he realized she was there. Just not in the floral dress he’d probably expected of her.

He dropped both, his jaw and the chair, instantly.

Laia finally noticed him.

The smile on her face was so sweet and tender, Sher felt like she was intruding an intimate moment.

“Hey sugar,” Laia raised her brow.

Ezra’s mouth opened and closed, but he must’ve given up on words because he only gulped, before tackling a laughing Laia into his arms.

“What do you think?” Laia asked, but there was a tinge of sadness to her words. Sher prayed Ezra missed it. For his sake.

“Bloody hell, Ly,” he whispered roughly, “You look…” but he swooped in for a kiss before he mumbled against her lips, “breathtaking. And God, let’s never do this again. I’ve missed you.”

“Like the grass misses the sun every night?” Laia smiled sadly.

He laughed and tugged her closer, “Every line I write is for you, so I reckon it’s only fair to have you repeat them back at me.”

And it must’ve been the right words to say because Laia pulled him into a fiery kiss.

Sher, realizing she should probably leave, cleared her throat, “I’m gonna leave you guys to it, then?”

“Sher,” He said without ever looking away from Laia, “You’ll take over for the night, yeah?”

“Take over? What? As a roadie?” Sher asked.

“Yeah, we're leaving early tonight. If he sacks me for it, then so be it,” he cupped Laia’s cheeks and smiled softly, “It’s worth it.”

“No one’s sacking anyone,” Sher rolled her eyes at his theatrics, “What should I do?”

“Just get the leather stool to him. The asshat will manage,” he said, already pulling Laia away. The two of them laughed against each other’s lips as they found their way out of the backstage, leaving Sher grinning at them.

But it was a bittersweet scene because she knew theirs was a sinking ship. But let them have the night, Sher thought sadly.

With a sigh, she grabbed the leather stool and walked towards the stage, to the beautiful drummer and his band.


	15. live at the rainbow

Sher carried the leather stool to the stage, past the bewildered roadies, and crept to the spot behind Roger.

At the sight of him, she had to really resist calling out his name.

Instead, she looked— really looked— at him. Sweat drenched his dirty-blonde hair, making it slick as it glinted against the light show. The dark, silky robe he wore left his chest bare. Sher smiled. He was so incredibly beautiful. But more than that, he was witty, and hilarious, and beyond kind with a heart the size of his drums. Sher was struck with the realization that she _kinda_ liked the man. And not just the idea of Roger Taylor the rockstar, but the actual person behind the outrageous jokes and sassy gestures.

Sher put the stool down to lean against the wall and watched as Roger threw his whole strength into the drums. He’d occasionally stand just to hit the drums harder and she thought he’d fall over, but he caught himself each time.

When Freddie went up to him during the chorus of Ogre Battle, Roger beamed like a child, nodding his head rapidly back at him. The two of them, outlined by green light, looked like musical Gods.

And it was true. Roger spat into the air like his lungs depended on it. Sher dodged every shot, knowing how horrified he’d be if he knew she was there all along.

At the end of Flick of The Wrist, she was ready.

She watched as the final notes of the song faded and Roger shifted in his seat. He stood up, expecting the leather seat to be switched with his older one.

“Alright Ez?” he said, glancing absentmindedly at her.

Sher watched in amusement as he froze and did a double take back at her.

“So you’re the obnoxious drummer from Queen, eh?” she repeated the first words she’d ever said to him, while Freddie did his monologue to the crowd.

Roger’s eyes widened. Then he grinned and it was so soft and pure and _happy_ , Sher wanted to do everything and anything to keep that grin there. He must’ve thought the same thing, because he reached down towards her. Sher laughed and shoved him back to his drums just as Freddie chimed his 1,2,3,4.

Without missing a beat, Roger’s arms moved around the different sets of drums quickly to the beat of In The Lap of the Gods. Then the man swivelled around his chair to face her.

“The show—” she gasped, but Roger just shook his head and cupped her cheeks, his grin turning wicked.

“We’ve got 30 seconds, cat,” he breathed before pulling her into a long kiss.

Sher wanted to object, but all thoughts faded when his lips brushed hers. His arms curved around her waist, but instead of the usual playful exploration, he just _held_ her.

“15 seconds now,” she smiled against his lips, not wanting to _ever_ let go.

“My cool cat,” he crooned instead, making Sher practically melt into the floor.

But just as quickly, he was gone, the warmth replaced by a whoosh of cold.

He grabbed the leather stool beside her and said, as he settled into the chair, “Will you be watching?”

With him sitting, she was taller than him so Sher reached to kiss the top of his head and said, “Always. Now go put that falsetto to use, blondie.”

He tipped his head back to wink at her and she couldn’t resist kissing the stupid, adorable grin off his face.

When he pulled away, she finally saw Freddie gaping at the two of them.

“Our drummer is having quite the night back here, lovies,” he said and the crowd roared and whistled in response. Roger flipped them all off, before his arms flew around the drums once more. Magic and marvel was what followed.

Sher retreated backstage, to watch him from the side, but chills ran down her spine as she witnessed the historical moment unfold.

And Sher couldn’t keep the smile off her face when Roger closed his eyes, tilted his head back and poured his falsetto into the world. With his hair curling around his sweat-slicked face, he looked like a fallen angel.

That vision lasted a mere second, before his eyes fluttered open and he grinned at her reaction. _Stay there_ , he mouthed at her.

Sher didn’t realize _staying there_ meant getting a personal Roger Taylor show.

She saw it all. The faces he made, the winks he blew her way, and especially the whistles he sent her way during John and Freddie’s duet in Liar. Yeah, _that_ part. She felt her cheeks heat up and she mouthed _thot_ back at him.

Through it all, Sher knew one thing was true; she loved it there. The electric thrill in the air, the buzzing crowd, the gorgeous man who couldn’t keep his eyes off her even as the world swooned over him.

With each passing minute, the space between them felt more outrageous and wrong.

When the last notes of Jailhouse Rock finally faded, Sher watched the smile on Roger’s face turn sly.

He jumped off stage, practically sprinting to scoop her up in his arms.

The momentum from his run pushed Sher against the wall, but instead of moving away, he _pinned_ her there.

His nose brushed hers as he breathed, “Hey.”

“Hi,” Sher said sweetly as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

“Shall I keep you as my roadie?” he grinned.

“You want me to quit my gig to handle your instruments?”

“Among other… things,” his smile was wicked as the night itself. Sher gaped at him but whatever witty remark she wanted to say was forgotten when he reached to kiss her. Sher sighed, which only made him kiss her harder.

When they broke apart, his eyes were heavy, his cheeks flushed. He propped her against the wall, his hands clenching her thighs. It only made Sher more flustered.

“D’you wanna—” he started, but Sher slapped his shoulder even as she laughed.

“Not here, you clown.”

“Home? Or, I mean, the hotel?” he mumbled as he reached to kiss her again. But when Sher evaded his lips he dropped his head on her shoulder with a strained sigh. His breath was warm on her neck as he whispered,“Wherever you want. Whenever you want. _Whatever_ you want, Sher.”

“You sure you don’t need another nap, blondie?” she purred at his incoherent sentences, even as her hands trailed a teasing path around his skin.

“Nah, you won’t have to worry about that with me,” he pulled back to grin, “I’ll show you just how—”

“Missing the afterparty then, are we?” Freddie’s voice boomed as the rest of the band walked past them.

The smug look on Freddie’s face rivalled John’s raised brows at winning most-likely-to-obliterate-Sher-from-embarassment trophy. Brian, at least, had the decency to cover his mouth to hide the laughter.

Roger groaned and put Sher down to slap Freddie’s butt, “Oh piss off, you tosser.”

“Don’t worry darlings, we won’t watch,” Freddie winked and Roger flipped him off for the fiftieth time that night but his smile was affectionate.

He turned to face her and Sher was struck again by the sight of him. His damning blue eyes scanned her face and she watched as they grew hazy and drunk again, just from seeing _her_.

“To the hotel then?” She asked.

Sher instantly wrapped her legs around his waist just as he bent to carry her away from backstage, the soft silk of his robe rubbing against her skin. Conversation rose and faded around them, as groupies and roadies crowded the venue. But they might as well had been ghosts for all the attention the two of them gave them.

And through it all, Roger couldn’t stop staring at her, so she asked, “What is it?”

“You’re too much, you know?” he bit his lips from smiling as he kissed every bit of her face, “There. Now you’re mine for eternity.”

“D-did you just make your territorial mark on me?” Sher asked incredulously as he swerved a group of people to reach the parking lot.

“Now why would I ever do that?” he drawled the weak denial before grinning so hard his eyes crinkled into soft lines.

“Why are you the way you are?” She poked at his bare chest.

“Because everyone else is too bloody dull,” he scrunched up his nose in mock distaste.

“Oh we get it, you’re perfect and everyone else is—”

He kissed her again, pausing their walk to shift her around his arms. The night was pitch black, but for the first time in a while, Sher wasn’t afraid. Not when he held her.

When they broke apart from a feverish kiss, he whispered, his breath warm on her lashes, “Not you, Sher. You’re bloody phenomenal.“

Sher felt her insides go fuzzy and warm but said, “Roger Taylor, ever the wordsmith.”

“Are you mental?” he said in between the kisses, “I haven’t stopped thinking of you since that night.”

“Which night?” She whispered, her own voice hitched.

“Munich,” he breathed as he plopped her gently into his car, “and every night since.”

Sher had to resist leaping into his arms again, but the instant they stumbled into their room, they took their time with each other.

Because this time, they finally had the luxury of time.

——————————

“Ladies,” A booming voice woke her up. Sher sprang away from Roger to pull the covers around her while Roger cursed his way out of sleep.

“We’re knackered, sod off Fred,” he mumbled as he tried pulling Sher back into his chest but she swatted his hands away.

“One match, come on. Sher, you won’t mind me stealing him, would you?” Freddie jumped into their bed, looking utterly unfazed by how fazed _she_ was.

“Only if you bring him back by morning,” she yawned, but her voice was still raspy from sleep, “what time _is_ it?”

“Oh it’s only three. Now come on Roger. Darling? Sweetie? Lovie? Roggie—”

He growled in his soft voice, “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be there.” Roger rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and put on his pair of pants so casually, Sher realized it was probably a regular routine between them.

“You too, Sher,” Freddie said lazily, “We could team up and oh! You can distract him.”

Roger looked at her through sleepy eyes,“Your choice, cat. if you’re still tired—”

“Eh, it’s fine. I’m awake. Besides, no way in hell I’m staying in this creepy room alone.”

Roger smiled softly at her, and he was about to say something when Freddie threw a pillow at him, “Go shower. You stink.”

“Wanker,” Roger slammed the pillow back at him, hitting Freddie in the face, before he sprinted to the shower to escape his wrath.

After he left, Freddie stretched himself on the bed and sighed, eyeing the ceiling, “You missed quite the after party, Sher.”

She pulled the sheets higher but said, “What craziness were you guys up to?”

He turned to face her and looked so smug Sher was reminded of a panther, “Underground British clubs are fucking fab if you know the right guys. I’ll leave the rest to your imagination.”

“Thank you,” Sher chuckled, “I think I’d rather stay clueless on your wild adventures.”

“And it’ll remain a mystery for the rest of time,” he winked, “unless I decide to publish my autobiography. But that’s rather boring don’t you think? _I_ can’t stand it.”

“A movie then,” She said quietly.

“Only if they get a proper handsome actor to portray me. And it has to be fucking brilliant. And dear God, if they get my hair wrong—”

“Oh don’t worry, they’re only gonna get _his_ hair wrong,” she pointed to the closed washroom door.

He chuckled and then sighed as he rolled over to face the ceiling, “I wonder what’s in our future. I know I’ll be filthy rich, but everything else is clouded in a fog.”

Sher had to really restrain herself from saying what she truly wanted to say to soothe his fears. Instead, she held his cheek and smiled, “Whatever you do, it’ll be so legendary that they’ll continue to chant your name long after you’re gone, Fred.”

He sat up, “I quite like that. Morbid of you to say, but I like it.”

“And you’ll get it too,” she smiled, “and this is about to sound really sappy, but as long as you stay true to yourself, you’ll get it.”

Freddie was quiet after that. His finger trailed lines on the bed sheet.

Finally he whispered, “But what if they don’t agree with that version of me?”

Sher realized then, that they were no longer talking about his fame or legacy.

“Freddie,” she held his hand gently, “Don’t put your life on pause trying to remain true to some made up, “old” version of you. Because that man doesn’t exist.”

In an eerie realization, Sher echoed fake Freddie’s words from that night at the Queen rave, “because there’s no single, distinct version of you. And your friends, your true mates, won’t care. But the press _will_ try to burn you down for it, don’t mistake them for good men. They will always fear you, Fred. You disrupt what they hold so close to their chest.”

He chuckled bitterly, “and what’s that?”

“Conventionality.”

He sighed, “It’s never bloody easy, these things.”

“Unfortunately it never is,” Sher paused, thinking of Roger’s words in Montreal and added, “But do tell them. John, Bri and Rog. They’re family. They’ll be alright with… whatever it is you’re struggling with. And if they aren’t, I promise I will be here for you. No matter what,” And she meant every word of it too.

Freddie only squeezed her hand once, before plopping himself back to bed.

But she knew the words had struck him. Whatever he did with it, was up to him. Sher could only be there for him, the way she had been for John that first night.

So Sher shoved him playfully and said, “Now, Mr Mercury, can you please leave the room so I can put on some goddamn clothes.”

He grinned, “That’s the opposite of what people usually say to me, you know.”

——————————

“Who did your make up, then?” Sher asked Freddie.

She was plopped on Roger’s lap, her wet hair dripping water on the blue sweatshirt she’d officially stolen from him. Outside, rain poured lightly over the foggy London night. But inside the large suite, roadies strolled around aimlessly, while some sat on the cold wooden floor, watching the intense Scrabble match between the four men.

They had met up with the equally sleepy Brian and John earlier in Freddie’s suite. She had also spotted Ezra and Laia sitting on the high kitchen stools when she first entered, but chose to leave them oblivious of her presence. Let them have an extra minute to themselves, she thought grimly.

“Roger did,” Brian answered with a knowing smile from across the table, “You should’ve seen it, Sher.”

Sher put her glass of beer down to turn around and face Roger, “Oh? I didn’t know you could do make up.”

“Hey, I’ve seen you do it fifty times by now,” he blushed, before quickly putting down his Scrabble tiles, “It’s really not rocket science.”

“What do you mean _not that hard_? You spent a good hour on my left eye, Rog,” Freddie rolled his eyes.

Sher tried to picture Roger hunched over Freddie in their fluffy robes, bickering about his make up, an eyeliner pencil in one hand. She snorted at the idea.

“And it was _still_ crooked,” John chimed, flinging his tiles at the table.

“Oi, that was on _purpose_ ,” Roger said in his little voice.

“Then why was the other one not crooked, Rog?” Brian raised an eyebrow.

Roger pointed at Freddie accusingly, “Because his bloody eyes were uneven!”

Freddie looked so offended he actually had to double take at Roger and mutter _snake_ before putting his tiles down.

“Well, _I’m_ gonna get us more beer before you guys began your war. And maybe some goddamn blankets.” Sher added when the cold still crept into her skin, despite her thick, knee-high socks. Roger frowned dramatically but broke into a smile after she planted a soft kiss on his scrunched up nose.

“Thank you Sher,” Brian nodded as he gently lifted his cup to her hands, “You’re god-sent.”

“Wait, I’ll come with you,” John chimed, throwing his tiles to the ground, “Never liked this game anyway.”

The other three groaned in unison, and a chorus of “you can’t just fucking leave” and “ruined the bloody game” followed. John, to his credit, only shrugged cooly before grabbing some of the glasses from Sher’s arm.

“And these bastards have the guts to say _my_ song is what’s threatening their rock and roll persona?” He huffed as they walked into the kitchen

“Oh, don’t let the music fool you. They’re posh elderlies in everything but looks,” Ezra chimed in. 

Laia leaped off the kitchen stool to attack Sher into a hug. She must’ve also felt the chill because she had an oversized denim jacket over her velvet top. Presumably Ezra’s.

“You’ve got to see what this madman did when we left,” Laia said. She rolled Ezra’s sweater to reveal the fresh marks of a new tattoo on his lower arm. Swirls of flowers crept around a gritty sketch of a human heart.

“Damn, that’s actually really cool,” Sher said.

Ezra crossed his arms and grinned at a frowning Laia, “I told you so.”

The four of them fell into easy conversations as John and Ezra poured beers into more cups. Sher decided to hunt the place down for anything warm enough to use as a blanket.

When she came back bundled in someone’s fuzzy blanket, Laia was spinning around the smooth kitchen floor to a Fleetwood Mac song. Without losing a beat, she pulled Sher into a dance. Sher laughed, letting herself be twirled around by a tipsy Laia.

“Decent pizza would be perfect just about now,” Laia sighed just as the music ended.

“Pizza? That’s the oddest midnight craving I’ve ever heard,” Ezra smiled as he brushed his thumb over her cheeks, “and yet, not that odd, not for you.”

“How about room service for now though?” Sher said.

Ezra grabbed the laminated menu shoved beside the stove and said, “Let me guess, french fries for the ladies?”

“French fries for _everyone_ ,” John chimed as he expertly squeezed limes into the beer, “Unless you want those three to end up in another brawl tonight.”

Sher shook her head affectionately at the sight of them. All three men had their eyes narrowed at each other, arguing on the validity of Freddie’s new made-up word. A second later, the air of tension dissipated and Roger leaned his head on Freddie’s shoulder. Even Brian was sending kisses to the two of them from across the table.

“I don’t even know what just happened,” Sher muttered.

“I’ve stopped trying to keep track of our arguments years ago,” John said.

Sher smiled but nudged John softly, “How are you dealing?”

“With the gigs?”

“And everything else.”

He sighed, “I _hate_ being away from home so I'm bloody thrilled for the break, really.”

“Yeah,” she nodded grimly, “Everyone’s so close to unravelling. ‘Least you get to spend the night together before you’re all off for the weekend. And then you’re all off to the American Music Awards, right?”

“Yeah,” he paused, “and I suppose I will miss the lot of them. But by God, if I see one of them this weekend, I’m turning the other way without a second thought.”

Sher snorted, “Where are you going?”

“Maybe Bali, or… I don’t know, maybe even take a girl out for dinner,” he smiled, suddenly finding the drinks very interesting to look at.

“Which girl have you entranced this time, Mr Deacon?” Ezra asked.

“Oh, she’s alright!” John’s smile grew shy, “Her name’s Veronica. But I reckon I’d go to Bali instead. Bali sounds like a great time, you know? And I can afford Bali now.”

Sher’s giggle turned into a gasp when she heard the latter part of his words, “Bali over Ver— over this girl? Hell no. You’re going on this date. Even if I have to drive you there myself John Deacon, you are going. Trust me on this.”

“Well alright then,” he raised his hands defensively, “I was just laying my options out. But yeah, she is rather... lovely.”

Sher watched as the goofy grin remained on his face even as they handed the drinks around.

“He won?” Sher whispered to Roger when she saw him biting his nails absentmindedly.

As she eased her way back into his lap, she found his hands wrapping around her smoothly in one move.

“No, not yet, but the twat looks too smug to not have something up his sleeves,” he grumbled before dropping a kiss on her neck, resting his head on her shoulder, “sorry you had to get dragged into this by the way.”

“What— Scrabble?— Nah, I can withstand the dangers of rock and roll.”

He laughed against her hair, before turning her around to face him, “Oh you haven’t seen the worst of it, cat. I pray no roadie ever offers you earl grey cuppas. It’s a proper madhouse here in this industry. ”

Sher tipped her head to the side, “But _why_ do you like rock and roll? I don’t think I ever asked.”

His eyes lit up as he said, “Because it’s the heart of music. Rock, _good_ rock music is brimming with life and soul. It’s bloody brilliant really. Makes me feel alive,” His smile turned lopsided.

“I think the day you were born, you must’ve had drummer stamped on your forehead. I can’t imagine you being anything else,” She said, tucking the dirty blonde strands behind his ears.

“I’d loathe to be anything else. This—” he glanced around the room, “—I’d rather die trying to get here than give up and be a bloody regular.”

Sher felt a quiet pride bloom within her, and said, “I love that about you. The brutal honesty is great, but it’s that passion and spirit, how you won’t live a life someone else assigned for you. I think I love it because _I_ get it.”

He scanned her face and a soft smile began to grow on his face but he didn’t say anything as he leaned to kiss her. And it was different. Not the usual passion and fire, but something even deeper.

“Then we’ll fucking rule the world,” he breathed against her cheek, “You and me.”

Sher leaned away, furrowing her brows at how the words struck a chord for her. She gulped, scanning his face and saw the honest truth of his words reflected there.

“It’s the whole world or nothing, you promise?” Sher whispered.

He uttered the words firmly, “I promise.”

Sher smiled then, the world seeming a little bit safer and warmer. 

She pulled the fur blanket around them and leaned against him to watch Freddie drop another tile.

“Where’d you get this ratty blanket from anyway?” Roger said as he dropped his tile.

“Stole it.”

“No bloody way. Get this, I once had this stunning maraca, yeah—”

The rest of the room groaned in unison. Even Brian muttered “here we go” under his breath.

Sher laughed because she knew the story, but she brushed everyone off and said, “Well _I_ wanna hear it. All of it. Your hilarious, embarrassing, wild stories. So go on.”

His eyes softened and he shifted her around his lap, pulling the blanket around them, to retell the tale of the infamous lost maracas Freddie threw away, just for her.

And as the night dipped into pale morning, as the roadies left to their homes for the weekend, he sat and told her wild stories of his life. Until even his stubborn eyes drooped.

From the comfort of the couch and Roger’s arms, she heard someone offering the group steaming Earl Greys. She looked at Roger and the two of them instantly dissolved into fits of sleepy laughter.

“Told you. Dangerous,” he mumbled.

“ _The_ most dangerous,” she agreed.

And in that moment, the foreign hotel room no longer seemed cold or detached. Not when the people she loved crowded it.

In that moment, Sher finally understood how home wasn’t always a place. It could also be a group of people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get your fancy dresses ready, we're off to the AMAs next ;)


	16. sunday girl: part i

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> July 1st, Happy birthday to Debbie Harry! It's truly strange how the universe works. I never planned to release this chapter today, so it's funny how it all aligns so perfectly.  
> Also, fun fact: this was initially a finale chapter before we hit Part III (which i'm REALLY EXCITED about!). but it's now a two-part finale because the word count reached 8000 words oop- anyway, have fun!

🎧 _supermassive black hole by muse_ 🎧 

“Ready Sher?” Roger asked, his black suit already glittering from the bright camera flashes. She placed her manicured hands in his and slipped out of the limousine in one smooth gesture.

Instantly, she was blinded by the same white flashes.

Sher pulled at the tail of her glittering emerald dress to prevent tripping over it. When she looked up, Roger was staring her up and down, grinning behind his dark shades.

“What?”

“You’re a fucking goddess,” he whispered into her ears, as he slipped his arms around her waist.

Around them, paparazzi roared for pictures, but they didn’t care. Not when the press despised Queen anyway.

Instead, the two of them fulfilled their promise to each other as they walked the red carpet like crowned royalties, bowing to no one.

Roger’s hands never left her exposed waist, just as she told him to, because the dress, although breathtakingly beautiful, was also a risk.

The glittering fabric curled behind her neck before falling into two separate slits down her chest, outlining a daring v-shape. And that wasn’t even the outrageous part. Behind, the fabric fell to her ankles in a graceful sway but left _everything_ above her hips exposed.

The way Roger had reacted when she strolled out of the dressing room in Barcelona was enough for her to risk wearing the damn thing to such a public event. Besides, Sher secretly loved the thrill and risk of it all. It made the American Music Awards far more adventurous than it seemed.

As they walked beside musical Gods and Goddesses, Roger subtly whispered to her. Ever the musical historian, he was aware of who’s new album was trash or which band just broke up for the fiftieth time. The comments grew so outrageous, Sher was red from laughter by the time they entered the venue. And they truly, honestly, couldn’t care less to get proper pictures.

Not when they’d taken enough at their New York hotel.

It was perhaps her favourite part of the night. Roger, with his outdated polaroid, squatting across the room to get the _right angle_ , before sprinting to her side just as the timer went off. The pictures varied in seriousness as they got drunk from champagne. From a regal picture of them by the mantelpiece, to one where she’d held Roger in her lap as he did the jazz hands.

“You think they’re already here?” Sher asked as Roger searched for their assigned seats. They hadn’t seen the rest of the band since that night at London and they all agreed to travel separately to New York.

He nodded to their table, “As expected, Fred’s late.”

Roger reached to fluff both Brian’s and John’s hair from behind them before grinning, “Hullo boys.”

“Not the fucking hair, dimwit,” Brian said but smiled. When he caught sight of Sher, his grin grew friendly, “And ah, you look stunning, Sher.”

Sher kissed his cheek, “Thanks gorgeous. You should wear suit and ties more often yourself.”

“If it’s acceptable, you know I’d wear it to breakfast.”

It took Sher another second to spot the new girl in red, sitting beside John. Instantly, she pulled the seat beside her.

“Mind if I sit here?” She beamed at the girl “I’m Sher, by the way.”

“I’m Veronica,” her full, red lips broke into a smile, “I came with John.”

Sher nodded perhaps too aggressively but she was determined to make Veronica feel comfortable around them.

“Have you been to one of these? I genuinely don’t know what to expect,” Sher said.

“Expect the most dull and pretentious show ever created,” Roger grinned at them before sitting himself beside Sher.

“That’s Roger,” Sher rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the smile as he puckered his lips at her in mock arrogance, “He’s a proper diva, as you can probably already tell.”

Veronica looked hard at him, before raising her brows at Sher, “and you’re with _him_?”

Sher snorted so loud, she had to _really_ put an effort into keeping a straight face. But it instantly fell apart after seeing John, bent over backwards in laughter.

Roger looked so scandalized he was actually _speechless_. Not a single word as he gaped around the table and looked at Veronica in betrayal.

“Oh Veronica, you’re officially the band’s favourite person tonight,” Brian smiled as he tipped his raised glass to her, “For putting the bastard in his place.”

“I see someone has already offended Roger,” Freddie’s voice boomed behind them.

Roger shook all the banter aside as he whistled at the baby pink suit and tie Freddie wore. Everyone shuffled in their seats to face him.

“Candy floss,” John shook his head in a smile, “Anyone surprised?”

A chorus of _nah, never,_ followed as Freddie sat himself beside Brian, “Baby, I am candy and all that sweet. Besides, we’re never going to win one of these pompous awards so might as well steal the spotlight another way,” he took a drag on his cigarette, “The rest of the world ought to know who Queen is. Although, Sher, if you’d told me you’d be wearing _that_ , I wouldn’t have bothered,” He winked.

“I’m only the glitter to your parade, Fred.

“Well I _strongly_ disagree,” Roger said as he tucked a strand of hair from her face.

“For the record,” Sher whispered when everyone else fell into casual chatter, “your bomb ass looks gorgeous tonight.”

He tipped his head to the side in a shy smile, before taking her face in his hands and kissing her cheeks sloppily, “you’re too much, cat.”

Sher laughed, trying to push him away.

“I have make up on!” she said in between the playful kisses. But he grinned so hard, he practically squinted his eyes closed.

——————————

The award show, as Roger had unfortunately predicted, _was_ dull and pretentious. But it didn’t matter, not when their table had eyes only for each other. Aside from Fred’s classy jeers and Roger’s not-so-classy ones, they blatantly ignored the stage, focusing instead on rehashing what happened in each of their weekend getaways.

“Oh but I _just_ couldn’t bear to leave the little kitten in that dreadful place! So I stole her! Hid her in my bloody fur coat while Mary distracted the boys and we just went for it!” Freddie jumped in his seat, retelling his Munich adventures with a smirk, “She’s at home now, poor Delilah, but I had her bowl filled. And Mary does hate these events, so she’s kitty-sitting.”

“You’re mental, mate,” Brian said as he downed his glass, “How the hell did you get pass customs?”

Freddie winked, “What you don’t know won’t hurt you, darling,” to which everyone quickly agreed to, because not a single soul had the guts to ask about it again that night.

“Well, if anybody wants to know, _I_ went to the most stunning planetarium exhibition in France,” Brian said smugly.

Veronica surprisingly was the one to answer as she said, “Oh, did you get to see the milky way? I’ve always found it so curiously beautiful.”

John leaned back in his seat to let the two of them discuss astronomy, but his gaze never left Veronica.

“He’s got himself a smart sweetheart, our Deaky,” Roger said when he too noticed them.

“And what did you two do?” Freddie pointed at Sher and Roger accusingly with his fork-full of fettuccine, then his grin grew smug as he said, “Aside from each other, of course.”

“You really _had_ to say that, didn’t you Freddie?” Sher said.

“I’ve been waiting for my chance all night. But truly, where did you two go?”

“Barcelona,” Roger said as he sipped his wine, “and the architecture is so grand over there, Fred. You would love it. We walked around blocks of beautiful Spanish houses. And then we got some new clothes. This one here was adamant on paying for her dresses, can you believe it? Women are getting so independent nowadays, it’s quite concerning,” He tried hiding a particularly mischievous smile after seeing Sher’s gasp.

“Take that back right now, blondie,” Sher hissed and slapped his shoulder,

Fred chuckled, putting his fork down, “Don’t take the clown too seriously. He has serious attention issues, hence, the outrageous comments he doesn’t mean.”

“Oi,” Roger chucked a piece of hard bread at him, “I do _not_ have attention issues.”

And, as their table continued to rehash and banter through the night, the famous crowd around them glued their eyes to the stage.

But Roger and Sher were miles ahead of everyone in one department. Drinking. They had ordered a whole range of award-themed drinks all night. Their initial attempt at forming a rating system faltered quickly when they became too drunk to speak proper sentences. They were laughing so hard at the most unfunny things, Sher’s mouth actually hurt from the smiling.

Sometime that night, after the award show was over, the lights dimmed and the front rows were turned into a dance-floor, full with a glittering disco ball. Music blared as famous celebrities twirled and shimmied in the dark.

Roger pulled Sher into his lap and the two of them giggled through the worst attempt at conversation. Mostly because they kept forgetting their train of thoughts, distracted by each other’s lips every twenty seconds.

Sher glanced away from him once to spot an equally drunk John passionately kissing Veronica near the bar and she gaped at Roger.

“Oh, don’t mistake the man for an innocent,” Roger said, before his eyes searched the room, “now where did the remaining bastards go?”

“Missing them already?” she teased.

“Always,” he kissed her head without a flicker of shame, “and I need to go to the washroom. Wanna come with?”

“And miss out on seeing you stumble into everything and anyone as you make your way? Hell nah.” She grinned, “and Roger, bring back the most interesting person you see in there.”

His eyes glinted with amusement, “Be careful what you wish for, Sher.”

“Ah, but where’s the fun in that?”

He stared at her, almost in wonder, before he said, “No, seriously, where have you been all my life.”

——————————

Sher smiled at the way he kept looking back at her after successfully avoiding each obstacle. Then she turned around to pour the final drops of wine into her cup. Their table had been abandoned by everyone, so Sher was left to watch the dancing crowd alone.

The dimly lit hall made it difficult for Sher to spot movements, so it took a whole minute to realize someone was approaching her table.

She squinted but could only spot the outline of a male figure.

It took another second to realize it was one of the business men from Bowie’s New York party.

She couldn’t remember who he was, or what he did. Only that he hung around many of the younger girls that often trailed around David. Sher cursed when he stopped at her table.

He slid himself next to Sher and reached to drop a wet kiss on her hand, “You are way too pretty to be sitting alone.”

Instantly, Sher felt an uneasiness crawl along her spine.

She shook her hand out of his, trying not to show her absolute revulsion, and said, “Ah but I’m not alone, sir. Actually, if you’d excuse me, I’m leaving.”

“So soon? You must wait,” he gripped her wrist, his fingers latching on her like a leech. But it was the predatory smile that made bile rise up her throat. Sher tried shaking him off, but his hold only grew stronger, blunt nails digging into her skin. Sher would’ve winced in pain if she wasn’t simmering with anger. At the _audacity_.

With a frosty smile, she spat the words, “i don’t _have_ to do anything.”

“You might want to hear me out, sweetheart. I know everyone who is anyone here. And you...” he licked his lips as his eyed roamed around her, “you could win yourself a modelling career. A body like that—”

“I said this that first time, and I mean it, sir. I am good,” Sher rolled her wrist and finally unlatched herself from his grip.

She rose from her seat and made the quickest trip to the women’s washroom. She didn’t dare look back. With wobbly steps and blurry vision, she pushed the door open.

Once inside, she leaned on the sink and exhaled. The loud dance music from outside was muffled and stripped into their basic beats. The thrum of bass felt so _vivid_ , it grew into a living thing, wrapping her in a bubble. Like being underwater, Sher thought absentmindedly.

Sher looked at her reflection and realized just how drunk she was. She’d have to sneak into the male washroom to get to Roger. Or maybe walk to the bar to get to John, but it was too far and— 

“Shit, you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” a soft voice called out from behind her.

“No, not a ghost, just the devil himself,” she huffed and looked at the source of the voice to find Debbie Harry, her elegant face contorted in confusion. Sher zeroed in on the famous wisps of black that hid under her platinum blonde hair. Her electric-blue suit only accentuated her rockstar status further.

If the encounter with the slimy man hadn’t drained all her energy, Sher might have fawned over her. Instead, Sher grimly said, “Some of the men in this industry don’t fucking deserve their position. What a bunch of nasty vermin.”

Debbie narrowed her eyes at the door, “Who was it? Which vermin?”

“Does it matter? Once one is snuffed, you have fifty new ones popping up like weeds,” Sher growled, scrubbing the kiss from her palm with a large dollop of soap. She must’ve looked so repulsed at her own hand, because when she looked up, Debbie was staring at her with an odd look.

“Men ain’t shit,” Debbie said as she grabbed tissue paper and handed it to Sher.

“Do you have to deal with this on a daily basis?” Sher asked, her own woes forgotten as she pictured what it must be like to be Debbie Harry, living in the vile industry of 70s music. Suddenly, the glitz and glamour of the era felt cheap and one-sided.

Debbie shook her head, but the rage was evident in her eyes as she leaned against the stall, “Fuck ‘em. And you know what’s the worst part?” she asked, pointing at the door with her cigarette, “No matter what we do, they will always mark my band down as pop trash. Because to these dimwits, women can’t make good music. Look at what they did to ABBA and the Runaways. We’re not _sophisticated_ enough for their pretentious asses.”

“You’re right. Fuck them. The world will remember you decades after they have faded into nothing but a vile memory,” Sher flung the tissue into a trash can, then sighed as she leaned on the sink,“I just hate how much power they _think_ they have. To come up to me and fucking degrade me like that? Who does he think he is?”

Debbie held Sher’s gaze on the mirror, “You okay? Seriously. Tell me who it was and I can get my guys to mess him up.”

“Nah, I don’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

Debbie’s brows furrowed, “It _is_ a big deal.”

“I know, but it’s also… gross” Sher frowned, “the whole thing feels so _wrong_. I just wanna not think about it for a second.”

“Alright. Whatever’s best for you—” she tilted her head and raised an eyebrow, “—what was your name again?”

“Sher,” she smiled weakly.

“Well, Sher, we’ll go with whatever’s you think is best for you. Whatever I can do to help, just say the word. Not like I’m busy doing anything else anyway,” She breathed a puff of smoke, “I’m Debbie by the way.”

“I know,” Sher laughed, “what I didn’t know is how cool you are. For caring. Seriously, I’m a total stranger.”

“Nah, it’s a human condition. I don’t believe any girl who saw you in that state would choose to turn away. Unfortunately, we’ve all been there.”

Sher smiled at last, “Well, Debbie, I really like you. Mind if I tag along until I find my date?”

“Obviously,” she beamed, “But oh, where to?”

——————————

Five minutes later, they scored four cold beers and stumbled into the perfect secret spot. A hidden balcony stood above the whole dance floor. It was far enough from the deafening music, but close enough to watch the rowdy crowd get down to Elvis and Elton.

Leaned against the railings and sipping on prime beers, they talked of changing the world.

Drunk minds tend to reveal a person’s greatest aspirations after all. Sher didn’t know if they were there for five minutes or an hour, but as they sat across each other, urging each other to take over the world, time felt infinite.

Sher was listening to Debbie talk of the music industry when her eyes caught a certain blonde hair from the sea of brunettes.

Without a second thought, she reached over the railing and screamed in her loudest voice, “Rooooooogggggeeeeerrrrrrrr!”

The man’s head snapped around, probably trying to locate the source of the voice.

“That’s your date?” Debbie shook her head in disbelief, “Queen’s Roger Taylor?”

“Why do you say it like that?” she poked her elbow, “He’s the most wonderful, intelligent person. You’ll see. Rooooooogerrrrrrrr!” she shouted again.

She saw him grow increasingly confused as he circled and spun around the venue.

Sher bit her lips and eyed Debbie’s silver scarf. Seeing her expression Debbie said, “Oh hell nah, this is silk.”

Many pleading looks later, Debbie finally rolled her eyes and shoved it into her hand, “Better be worth it,” she muttered.

Sher yelled once more, then, after pressing the scarf into a ball, threw it right at him. When the scarf fell on Roger, he _finally_ looked up and gaped at them. Sher saw him break into relieved laughter. _Wait for me_ , he mouthed.

They watched as he went running around the venue but quickly lost him in the sea of people.

“So, why Roger Taylor?” Debbie asked, sipping on her cold beer.

“Well, look at him.”

“There are other pretty guys.”

Sher paused, thinking it through before she finally said, “Because he makes me feel like I can take on the world. It’s silly, but the world’s a little brighter when you have someone championing you.”

Debbie nodded, “Good. Because he’s right behind you and it would’ve been awkward if you stopped at the first thing.”

Sher gasped and turned around to find him staring at her with an odd look.

“You asshole, how long have you been standing there?” Sher asked.

But he only scooped her in his arms and said, “Is that so? And here I thought it was this beautiful hair that you can’t seem to get enough of.”

When Roger finally glanced at Debbie though, he frowned, “You’ve got her here too? Well that’s no bloody use. I thought _I_ had the most interesting person. I should’ve left the git downstairs.”

“Excuse me?” A voice called out from the darkness and a lean figure transformed into David Bowie himself. He looked exactly the same, except his copper curls were dyed a platinum blonde.

Sher jumped out of Roger’s arms to tackle David into a hug.

“Sherplum,” David laughed as she kissed his cheek.

“He didn’t believe you’d be here.” Roger said just as as David said, “I can’t believe you’re here.”

“Off you go, Dave,” Roger’s scornful voice rang across their little balcony, “Not planning on stealing her again, are you?”

He winked at Sher, “As if anyone can hold you to one place. Although, New York _has_ been dremful without you.”

“Dremful,” Sher laughed, sharing the inside joke as Roger and Debbie traded shrugs.

“In the 70s,” he agreed and as his smiles always were, they made her feel warm and safe.

“Well alright then, come here you two,” Roger said and Sher could swear there was a hint of impatience in the words. So she finally pulled out of the hug and plopped herself back on Roger’s lap.

“I lost you for a second there, where’d you go?” Roger asked, brushing her cheek with his thumb. 

Sher eyed Debbie but said, “Washroom. I found Debbie and I couldn’t get enough of her brilliance. She’s a complete angel.”

David scoffed and said, “I didn’t know angels came in the form of Cruella de Vil.”

“Ha ha, and what’s it this month? Ziggy?” Debbie countered.

“Touché,” David chuckled but nodded, “I guess I deserve that.”

Debbie rolled her eyes but chugged the rest of her beer and said, “You and me. Less speaking, more dancing now.”

David raised his brows but gestured at the stairs, “After you then, Deb.”

“Obviously,” she said and winked at Sher before the two of them dissolved into the night.

“What’s with them?” She asked.

“History, lots of it,” he said distractedly, his arms already pulling her closer.

He reached for her hands and Sher winced as he grazed over the tender lines from the stranger’s grip earlier. Instantly, his eyes zeroed in on the faint swelling and he frowned.

“Where’s this from?” his little voice asked.

“I had quite the adventure,” she said but quickly pointed to the stage, “Wanna dance, Roggie?”

He perked at the pet-name but scrunched his nose, “I’d rather stay here.”

Sher sighed but crawled to sit by the railings, gazing at the dance floor below them.

The music grew louder as rockstars and celebrities alike crowded the open space. Everyone, from ABBA to Paul McCartney was there.

But in their little mezzanine, Sher felt detached. Almost in that same underwater way as before. As if they were floating on a serene ship above a sea of people.

She glanced back and found Roger staring at her.

“What’s going on in that mind of yours now,” she poked his forehead as she hooked her legs around his waist.

“You,” he said, “How you _will_ take on the world. With or without me. But God, I truly hope it’ll be with me.”

Sher blinked, surprised at his sudden burst of affection. She wasn’t expecting _that_. Or the warm feeling in her belly after.

She cursed when the embarrassing, unwanted tears pooled around her eyes.

Seeing them, Roger frowned and brushed her eyes with his calloused thumbs, “Hey,” he said softly, “the only thing messing your make up will be these gorgeous lips of mine, alright?”

Sher laughed, before leaning in to kiss him softly, truly. Because no words could convey how much the words meant to her. How it shattered past her doubts and fears.

When she pulled away, she realized she’d never felt so loved by another person before. It was intoxicating and she knew she felt the same way about him.

So Sher cupped his cheeks, staring at the beautiful sky blue of his eyes and said, “And I promise you’ll _always_ have a home with me, Roger.”

He leaned away instantly, shock plain on his face. Even as he opened and closed his mouth multiple times, no words escaped his lips.

Sher feared she’d gone too far, but she needed him to know it was true. She’d seen the off way he talked about his home. And how they’d spent their one weekend off in Barcelona. _Anywhere, but Cornwall,_ he had said.

Roger shook his head and exhaled, the tired face of a man who had been running around the world to avoid his own home. He started to pull a lazy grin on his face, but Sher said, “No, don’t do that. Not to me.”

He closed his eyes defeatedly, but when he opened them, it was with a stare that could pierce through suns and planets. It was also resolved and heavy with pain. Sher instantly wanted to take all the pain away from him. To make him blissfully happy, but that was _his_ journey.

“Do you mean it?” he said roughly.

Sher brushed her lips with his once and said with an equally firm and resolute stare, “Until the stars die out and the universe collapse, I promise.”

He exhaled, blinking furiously at his hands, but slowly he nodded and looked up at her, “Alright.”

Sher planted soft, brief kisses on his wet lashes as she said “I’m here, Rog. You’re okay,” she whispered, “You’ll always be okay.”

It was a heavy promise to make, Sher knew, but she meant every word of it.


	17. sunday girl: part ii

The world froze for an hour.

As Roger and Sher made heavy promises to each other, Sher knew what they had wasn’t ordinary. And it erased everyone else from existence, replacing them with him, him, and only him.

When she gazed around the AMAs afterparty and found herself longing to be away, she realized Brian was right. She had outgrown the high moments. And not because she sought wilder parties, but because she had something better worth pursuing. Her gaze fell on Roger and Sher smiled.

“Home?” She gestured at the door.

There was a delicateness to his gaze. “Wherever, whenever, _whatever_ you want, Sher.”

“You,” she whispered, “I don’t want anything else, just you.”

He sealed another vow with a brief nod, “And I’ll still give you everything else. Even if you’re too stubborn to ever accept them.”

She laughed, “It’s my life’s one purpose. To spite your gifts.”

They strolled down the stairs, expecting the party to settle down, but it only grew.

They didn’t know how they managed it but they found the rest of the band. Freddie was slurring scandalous suggestions at Brian, who was clearly flirting with Stevie Nicks. Still sprawled near the bar, John and Veronica were glued to each other’s lips.

Veronica waved them over when she caught sight of them.

“Are you heading out, then?” Veronica shouted over the loud music.

Roger nodded, sliding one arm around Sher’s waist. “Keep an eye out for Fred and Bri, will you?” 

“Yes, yes,” John said with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, “off you go now.”

Outside, the New York night was surprisingly chilly for April. Before the first draft of wind reached her though, Roger’s suit was snuggly placed around her shoulders.

“What a gentlemen,” she teased, but leaned her head on his shoulder, tangling their fingers together.

“How rude of you to think I was anything but.”

The sweet moment was interrupted by the sight of cars. Lines and lines of them moving at a disturbingly slow speed. Roger cursed colourfully. There was no way they’d get a cab in the next hour with all the traffic.

“What’s our exit strategy?” Sher asked.

“Fancy crawling to the first hotel that’ll have us?”

“You think they’ll have empty rooms? The whole city’s probably booked.”

Roger huffed, “Alright. Stay right here cat, I’ll get us a car.”

“How?”

“Ah, well, I’m _very_ persuasive,” he winked and jogged back inside.

Sher laughed, but after the first fifteen minutes, she was ready to try her luck with Roger’s first idea. Despite his coat, it was still a cold and windy night. She hugged the fabric closer, taking in the one cologne he couldn’t go a day without.

Outside, taxis honked as people milled about, smoking cigarettes in tuxedos.

She was so lost in thought, she didn’t see the man approach her until he was beside her.

“Pleasure seeing you here again, sweetheart,” the slimy man from before said.

“Oh you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Sher muttered under her breath, even as her heart raced, “man, listen okay? I don’t want or need anything from you.”

“You sure you don’t need a lift? Because I got just the ride, baby.” His red hair glinted against the streetlight. It only made him wolfish.

Sher knew it was a lost cause to argue, so she walked away.

When she heard footsteps following, that was when fear crept in.

Because she was defenseless. In a dress and heels. Alone.

Sher picked up her speed, knowing if she’d just get back inside and find her friends, it would be okay. If anything were to— she bumped into someone’s chest.

His cologne unlocked the relief gate.

“Wh-?” Roger asked.

Sher exhaled into his chest. “Thank you thank you thank you,” she whispered into his neck, “let’s get out of here.”

“ _Roger_ ,” a soft voice called out from behind and she saw Debbie Harry and David Bowie behind him. Debbie shared a look with Roger, and instantly, Sher saw Roger’s face harden. His gaze fell to her wrist, at the faint marks, and Sher saw the second it clicked in his head.

“And who the fuck are you?” he asked, deathly quiet.

“Hey,” she cupped his cheeks, “it’s fine, look I’m fine, let’s just go.”

And it would’ve been fine. Roger’s fury cooled at her words and he nodded at her.

Sher would later wonder how different her life would be if they’d never met that man. But it was a defining moment in her life. In all of their lives.

And Sher would never forget the stranger’s smirk before he said the words.

“Ha, it’s fine man,” he drawled, “got a pretty hot thing walking around so I gotta cater to my desires, you know?”

And then, it wasn’t fine.

——————————

Sher paused, trying to process what the bastard just said. Then she laughed.

All the rage and fear hitting a crescendo, she turned around to face him.

“What the fuck did you say?” she snarled, “cater to your desires? Is there even a shred of intelligence in that head of yours? Or did you stop learning at age three?”

Even Roger was stunned as he gazed between them.

Amusement left the man’s face, replaced with fury. But Sher didn’t care. Not anymore.

“If you didn’t want anyone looking,” he snapped, “then why did you dress like that? Besides, it’s fine. I wouldn’t want a fucking groupie anyway.”

If Sher could spit fire, she would bathe him in flames.

Instead she looked at Roger, whose fists were already curled, and nodded.

“Fuck him up,” she snarled.

But it was David Bowie’s fist that flew into the man’s face.

The crack of a broken nose rang through the streets.

“You insipid creature,” David said as he pulled his sleeves up to ready himself for another punch.

Sher saw a blur of yellow fly past her and realized it was Roger.

He lunged for the man, throwing both of them into the ground. He growled as he pinned the man with one hand, his other raining blows at the man’s face.

“Fuck! We’ve got to go,” Debbie shouted, her eyes widening at the sight of the man but Sher couldn’t understand why.

When she glanced back, the man had spat a mouthful of blood on Roger’s shirt. The act caught Roger so off-guard, he didn’t see the man throw his head against his own until it was too late. The impact of the head-butt knocked Roger off him and he groaned, cradling his head.

Sher’s breath hitched, but nothing prepared her for the horror of seeing the man reach around his pocket to pull out a pocket knife.

Even David hesitated as he eyed the weapon.

But Roger stared him dead in the eye and said, “Go on then, if you fucking dare.”

The man hunched himself over Roger, eyes filled with a hot rage. True fear crept down her spine as she saw him pull the knife near Roger’s face.

But Roger must’ve had it all planned.

He roared a war-cry and shoved the man’s head to his chest. Roger pinned him there and kneed him in the ribs repeatedly. Then the blonde warrior flung himself upright and kicked the knife away from the man’s reach in one move.

“My man's a badass!” Sher hollered and watched as Roger, with his ridiculous, blood-smeared face, beamed at her.

“Let’s go!” Debbie screamed, “The limo’s here.”

Roger wiped his bloody lips on his sleeves and nodded, but his steps swayed. In one second, Sher was there. She held him by his waist, even as his knees trembled.

“My hero,” she kissed his bloody cheek, “Now hold on to me, okay blondie?”

He nodded and flung his arms around her shoulder, even as his eyes grew hazy and distant.

The sudden weight of his body almost pulled her down, but Sher gritted her teeth and willed her legs to walk.

“Behind you, Sher!” Debbie shouted from the limousine.

And Sher knew, without even looking back, that the man was there. She didn’t give herself the chance to even panic. Not as she breathlessly pulled them closer to the white limousine.

With agonizing slowness, she carried and practically shoved the two of them into the limousine. They fell, tumbling atop each other but she heard the slam of the door and exhaled. When she looked up, David had moved back into his seat. Debbie still looked pale as snow, eyeing the door distrustfully.

The slam of fists on tinted window shook them into more frantic screams. This time directed at the driver to go, go, go.

And although the car muted every string of curse the man sent their way, Sher caught the last line. _You’ll fucking pay for this,_ he shouted just as the limousine sped into the night. If Sher wasn’t so exhausted, she might have feared the words. But at that moment, she could only do one thing; catch her breath.

Roger, who was still recovering from the hit to his head, crawled towards her within the cramped limousine floor.

“You okay?” he slurred through bleeding lips, before resting his head on her shoulder and exhaling.

“No, are you?”

“S’okay. Might need new shirt. It’s bloody… bloody,” he gruntled.

And that’s when Sher lost it. She fell into a roaring fit of hysterical laughter.

“Bloody… bloody?” she gasped in between the fit, “Really Rog? Really?”

Even David raised his brows and muttered to himself, “What a way with words this one’s got.”

Sher reached for Roger’s hand in the dark and tangled her fingers around his.

“Most boys are fools,” Debbie sighed, “but you two are alright.”

And in the dark, after having the worst adrenaline rush of their lives, they finally broke into easy, relieved laughter.

——————————

🎧 _visions of gideon by sufjan stevens_ 🎧

They pulled into David Bowie’s flat and scattered into different rooms almost instantly. Sher had been there hundreds of times during her stay in New York, but what shocked her was how easily Debbie navigated her way around his place. Sher didn’t say anything though, especially when she had a bleeding blondie to help.

The fluorescent light hummed quietly as she scanned the bathroom cabinet for first aid supplies. It was 4am and the normally busy street was dead silent.

When she turned around, she found Roger, who was sat on the toilet, fast asleep. His blonde curls were tragically matted with dry blood.

Oddly enough, it was the sight of him bleeding and asleep that disarmed her.

She knew she loved him, then.

Not the rockstar celebrity but the man who fought a stranger for her, who didn’t complain once about the pain afterwards.

She placed the medications on the floor, realizing that her own steps were still shaky from both the drinks and the adrenaline rush. Then, carefully, she pulled his hair up into a high bun. Despite the bloody streaks, he looked like a really pretty college girl and it took monumental effort to stifle her giggles.

She saw the shadow of a smile brush his face and kissed the top of his head, “I know you’re awake, but I’ll let you pretend, this one time.”

His smile only grew wider.

Sher carefully sat herself on his lap, cleaning the grimy blood off his face with a wet cloth. Thankfully, aside from the bruises that would bloom the next day, the cuts only grazed the surface of his skin.

“That was fucking epic what you did for me earlier, by the way,” she whispered.

“Vigilante rockstar _does_ have a nice ring to it.”

“Ah, does this mean I’m Selina Kyle?”

“Nah,” he shook his head firmly, “that makes you Alfred.”

Sher gasped, “I’m going to let that slide because you almost died and I don’t think you could last another brawl.”

“Good, because I wouldn’t last a minute against you,” he nuzzled his nose against her.

Sher laughed and tilted his chin up, readying him not for a kiss but for the sting of antiseptic solution.

His eyes shot open in betrayal, “i was expecting something far more… pleasant, and of the sexy sort, not _agonizing pain_. Is there no saline solution in that drawer?”

Sher raised her brows,, “nope I checked. But somebody knows their first aid skills well.”

“Been in a few fights. Besides, dentistry…” he shrugged, shutting his eyes.

“Wait a second,” She gasped when it clicked, “then why’d you make me bandage your blistered hands that first night if you knew how to do it yourself?”

He smiled sheepishly, “beats having to do it meself. Besides, how else was I going to get your attention.”

“You cunning timbit!”

“At your service.”

Sher snorted, before pulling away from his grasp. But gravity betrayed her when she leaned too far back. She crashed against the sink in a painful thump.

“Bloody hell,” she heard Roger shout, before he leaped off the toilet seat to reach her.

Sher groaned in pain, but at the sight of him, she laughed. Hair pulled up like a custard bun, eyes swollen, as he crawled towards her in panic, he was quite the sight. So far from the man she met months before, in his white robe and mean swagger.

“Are you alright?” he cupped her cheeks, even patting her head once, “why are you laughing? God, did you get a concussion?”

“Me? You’re the one that’s bloodied up,” she laughed, “we’re such a mess.”

He smiled ruefully, “so you’re not concussed?”

Sher shook her head and was scooped into his arms in the next second. She exhaled, letting his arms gently circle her waist.

They were quiet for a bit, letting the night pass by them while their breathing steadied into one rhythm. Sher knew their epic brawl and escape would be retold countless times— a tale they’d made sure the whole band and crew would hear.

“Hey,” Roger said, ending the silence, “Next time anyone tells you shit like that, don’t keep it to yourself, alright? If you don’t wanna tell me, it’s fine, but promise me you’ll tell someone. John or Fred or—”

“You,” she poked his cheek, “I’ll tell you. Not John or Freddie or whoever. _You’re_ my person.”

“Then why’d you— ”

Sher sighed into her hands, “It’s more than that, Rog. It’s bigger than me. Earlier, I was talking to Debbie and I realized how oblivious I’ve been about this goddamn industry.”

He sat up groggily to face her, “What do you mean?”

“I know that vile man got what he deserved tonight, but what about tomorrow when his wounds have healed? What about the other girls? I don’t think I can sit by and not do anything. It feels so wrong.”

“And you wanna do something about it,” he frowned.

“I know, I know. Queen doesn’t need another reason to be hounded by the media, so I promise it’ll be all me. My name, my career, my life on the line.”

“I don’t give a rat’s arse about what the media has to say. They’re tired buffoons.” He tucked a loose strand behind her ears. “I’m just worried about what they’ll do to you. It’s not just some rudimentary social suicide. It’s having your name blacklisted in every single industry, Sher.”

“I can handle it.”

“Knew you’d say that,” he shook his head in a smile, “but honestly, truly, do you think you’re ready to take it?”

She closed her eyes, leaning against his chest. “I don’t know. I genuinely do not know. It’s a whole other world. And I know nothing about it.”

He was quiet for a few minutes and Sher thought that would be the end of their talk.

But Roger continued. “No, you’re right. You have to do something, but not at the scale you’re thinking.”

She pulled away and saw him staring hard at the ceiling. Brainstorming— he was brainstorming a solution for her. Sher suspected it was something he did often, especially for Queen. Always trying to solve everyone’s issues, Sher thought warmly.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“There’s power in quiet machinery. You’ve got to establish yourself as a powerful person or they’ll just brush your claims away.”

Sher knew he was right, but huffed at the heaviness of the task, “So be a world-famous make up artist, then destroy the inherent misogyny in the music industry?”

“And so much more,” he kissed her head, “Alfred _is_ the powerhouse of a certain vigilante.”

“When did you get so wise?”

“Ah I think my beauty has distracted you from my intelligence. It’s a small price to pay for looking so gorgeous, but alas, we all must make do with our shortcomings.”

Sher snorted, before thinking of the dreadful walk to the spare room. “Can we just sit here, for a few minutes and not think about the outside world. Can we pause?”

Without missing a beat he nodded. “Pause. You don’t have to figure it out all in one night, you know.”

She exhaled, feeling his arms tighten around her.

“You really don’t mind?” she asked quietly, “i know it’s going to be a lot for you to be seen near me once I go public on my… views.”

“Are you serious?” he mumbled sleepily, his breath warming her cheeks, “that’s exactly why I love you.”

Sher was struck with shock. “You do?”

“Yes,” he whispered so softly it might have been the wind, “and also because of that arse of—”

Sher instinctively slapped his shoulder, before realizing what she’d done when he groaned in pain. His dramatic cry was halted only by the soft kisses she sprinkled on his face. “My battered hero,” she smiled against his lips.

——————————

A few minutes turned into a few hours as they both fell asleep on the bathroom floor. Roger made a point to drift off only when she did. Just to double-check she didn’t actually have a concussion.

It was a girly yelp that shook him from his sleep.

“What the fuck,” Debbie hissed, “what are you two doing here? You know there’s a spare room here, right?”

Roger groaned, unwrapping his arms from the still-sleeping Sher to rub his eyes. “What time is it?”

“Hell if I know,” she huffed and tiptoed around them to get to the sink.

Outside, dawn was breaking, the night sky blurring into a serene sea blue.

He gave himself a minute to feel the nasty headache before he carefully untangled himself from Sher. He’d have to somehow carry her to their room. He stood up to stretch, wincing at the ache and bruises already forming on him.

“Hey,” Debbie said, “We need to talk.”

“Hmm?”

He turned around and saw her frowning. “What’s going on?”

She bit her lips, glancing at Sher, “listen, I think you two need to lay low for a bit.”

“What for?”

“That guy earlier, I know him. He’s not some lowlife, Roger. He’s a big name in music, and you’ve royally pissed him off. Both of you.”

Uneasiness slid into his bones, but he shrugged, “we’ll manage.”

“You don’t understand—”

“We’ll _manage_ , Deb.” He said more to himself than to her. It was too much. He could only deal with one shitstorm per night. Whatever she was talking about, it’d have to wait for another day.

He bent to scoop Sher gently in his arms, even as it made his body scream with agony. Hands full, he cursed at the closed door, but Debbie strode to open it.

“They’ll come for her and the band,” she said.

At that he stopped, staring hard at Debbie. “What do you mean?” he whispered.

“They don’t let girls who insult business moguls roam freely in this industry, Roger. You should know better than that,” She sighed and pushed past him.

He stared at the empty hall, even after she left.

Business moguls.

Roger cursed, his arms shaking with the panic.

He pulled his whole strength into making it into the spare room without falling apart.

Because it couldn’t wait another day.

With Sher safely tucked in bed, he limped to the kitchen, poured some of Bowie’s finest scotch and raked his brain for answers.

He’d figure out a way to fix everything. To keep everything alright. The band, Sher. It’d all be alright if he’d just find a way to fix everything.

Because who else would, if not him?

——————————

“I swear there’s someone out there,” Sher muttered to David as they stood by the kitchen sink.

“Bloody paparazzi at it again?” he pinched the bridge of his nose, “Can’t I have a _single_ hangover without the scum crowding outside my flat?”

“Maybe you should move, Dave. I don’t think New York is doing you any good,” she said as she made an especially mushy banana oatmeal for a certain blondie who _apparently_ couldn’t feel around his mouth that morning. Although Sher suspected it was all just to have her feed him.

“Yeah, it’s fucking ridiculous,” he sighed, “i’m thinking of Munich actually.”

Debbie, who was in a rainbow-themed pyjamas, muttered a soft hello to the group before plopping herself beside Roger on the couch. The latter looked like he was dead in everything but spirit. The blue and purple bruises were stark against his blonde bun, and his left eye was swollen shut, but he broke into a grin when he spotted Sher and her bowl. _What a dork,_ Sher thought warmly, even as she spotted the dark shadows under his eyes. She owed him a proper night in, just to soften the angry lines on his forehead.

The four of them spent the lazy afternoon inside, with the heavy curtains pulled down and the television on. Debbie was nursing a particularly nasty hangover with multiple mugs of coffee while Sher and David shared a take out box. He’d insisted on getting sushi after Roger threw quite the tantrum at the range of pyjamas available within the apartment. Sher had dubbed herself Switzerland and swore not to pick sides, which led them to Debbie’s room. But one fiery glare from her had the both of them shuffle back into the kitchen, calling a truce.

Despite it all, the four of them shared a couch in the quiet, comfortable morning.

Roger must’ve felt it too because she saw him pick up a pen and paper and began writing the first lines of Drowse.


	18. scandal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> PART III  
>   
>  _  
> scandal - yes it'll all and all happen again  
>  today the headlines, tomorrow hard times  
> and no one ever really knows the truth from the lies  
> and in the end, the story deeper must hide_  
> 

Rain poured steadily outside Freddie’s and Roger’s shared flat. They’d spent twenty minutes trying to unjam the windows close when they first arrived but it wouldn’t budge. And since the three of them had the unified strength of a weak child, they didn’t bother.

As the wind swept in to steal the warmth from their abandoned cup of teas, Sher stroked a sleeping Delilah on her lap, the two of them bundled in an equally ragged pile of blankets.

“I know I shouldn’t but God, I’ll miss this terrible place,” Freddie said as he stooped down to fiddle with the vinyl player.

Sher glanced around the shabby interior, with its mismatched antiques and victorian furnitures, “where’d you even get half of these things?”

“Kensington market, darling. Rog and I used to have a stall not three blocks from here,” he smiled ruefully at the memory, “we’d get up, sort through the things we’d bargained for the previous night and try to convince others to buy it at outrageous prices.”

Sher snorted, “did you make a lot?”

“No, we’d spend all of it on luxurious meals that same night,” he grinned, not an ounce of regret on his face.

“And starve the next week, don’t forget _that_ bit,” Roger chimed in from the bathroom. The man had locked himself in there for a good thirty minutes, trying to dye his hair blonder. Ever the diva.

“Why do you miss it so much?” Sher asked.

“Ridiculous innit? I’m richer than the fat grannies who live upstairs, but I can’t help but feel sad for leaving the goddamn place. Everything’s going to be so different now. I, for one, won’t get to see Roger shit-faced after our nights out again.”

They had one last week of rent before they’d move out forever. Their shiny new apartments had been available for weeks by then, but the two struggled to let go of their shabby flat. The moment they’d landed in London after the AMAs, they’d both found themselves driving back to the flat, almost out of habit.

“It’s just growing up, I guess. Everyone has to move out eventually,” she squeezed his hands , “you’ll be alright after a few weeks.”

A shrill scream shook the two of them out of their sweet moment. Sher turned around to see Roger frantically running around to his room and then back to the washroom, muttering panicked curses all through it.

“What’s he up to now,” Fred looked at Sher as if she’d know.

The two of them jumped out of their seats to peek into the washroom.

And none of them was prepared for what they saw.

Sher gaped, stunned into silence. But beside her, Freddie was double-backed, roaring fits of laughter. She could tell he really tried to hold in the giggles, but the grand view of Roger Taylor’s green hair was too powerful.

“It’s green,” Sher gasped, hitting Freddie’s chest to silence him as Roger’s eyes flitted between the two of them in panic.

“Least it’ll match your bruises?” Freddie grimaced.

“Fucking fuck!” Roger roared at the mirror as he frantically parted his hair to get a better view.

Sher strode in and ran her hands through the strands, “holy shit,” she winced, “it’s _green_ green too.”

He looked at her and frowned, before dropping his head on her shoulder, half in despair and half in laughter, “what am I going to do? I look like the green muppet.” He groaned.

Even Freddie had his hands around his hair, trying to examine it while Roger only grew more antsy as he said to himself, “i’m never bloody leaving this place. I’m staying in. I don’t care. You’ll both be my—”

The bell rang and the three of them looked at each other.

“You get that,” Freddie said to him.

Roger looked at him as if he just spat in his tea, so Sher rolled her eyes and opened the door to find the other two members of the band, grim-faced.

“What’s wrong?” she asked instantly.

“You’ll wanna sit down, Sher and—” John stopped when his eyes shot to the room, “Is that _Roger_?”

Brian elbowed him before saying, “We need to talk. It’s about Roger. And you, Sher.”

——————————

The grumble of thunder muffled the kettle’s whistle. Brian moved the pot from the stove and poured boiling tea to mismatched cups. Sher could only watch in a quiet dread, knowing he was stalling.

The five of them had scattered themselves around the living room, waiting for Brian to approach them with the cups.

At Brian’s cue, John dropped the heaps of magazines and newspaper articles on the wobbly table. He sighed. “I’m so terribly sorry, Sher.”

Her movements felt slow as she reached for a copy of The Sun with her face sprawled on the first page.

And the words. _Sex, drugs and rock and roll?_

She reached for another one, _Did she bed them all?_

Bile rose up her throat and Sher couldn’t breathe.

Another article was devoid of words, just two images put side-by-side. Sher and David Bowie in his apartment kitchen. Sher and Roger on the red carpet.

“I— this isn’t right,” she said, “it’s all lies.” She looked around the room in confusion.

Roger had turn the colour of fresh snow. Brian and John stared at each other with knowing glances.

Sher scanned more headlines, wincing at each nasty slur thrown at her. All painting her as some devious seducer, out to sleep with everyone in the music industry.

The room grew unbearably hot, even with the storm still brewing outside.

“Scums, all of them,” Freddie spat, “who did this? Who was it?”

When no one replied, it clicked for Sher. “It’s that man isn’t it? The one from the AMAs night?”

“Yes,” Brian admitted.

“We’re gonna fucking blast them for this,” Freddie said, “We’ll do it! We’ll get Bowie on the line to clarify—” he stopped when John shook his head.

“We already did. And—” John grimaced, “—he can’t do anything. He’s under the same management who did this. They have him under their thumb.”

“So- What _can_ we do?” Freddie asked.

“Nothing,” Brian muttered, looking at Sher apologetically, “because it’s not just some measly photographer or musician we’re dealing with here. It’s the whole music industry.”

——————————

“You’re telling me, they can post this bullshit and get away with it?” Freddie fumed.

“He’s one of the business blokes, Fred,” Brian said.

“So what do we do?” Roger finally said.

That led to another discussion, but Sher muted everything. Instead, she reached for the papers and read them all. Even if it made her feel sick and worthless.

There was something so embarrassing about the whole situation that made her want to melt into the floor. She felt herself dragged deeper into a hole with each slur or polite curses they rained on her. As if she was the devil itself. As if she had entranced half of Hollywood into sleeping with her. As if she was nothing more but—

“ _Hey_ ,” Roger cupped her cheeks gently. And it was his eyes that pulled her out of the spiral.

She looked up at him groggily, as if still in a haze, and blinked.

“I can’t win, can I?” she said, “they’ll snuff me out before I can even raise my voice.”

He pressed a kiss on her forehead, “I’ll fix it, alright cat? Leave it all to me.”

Sher nodded weakly, noticing how he never answered her question. “I’m tired, Rog. Will you take me home?”

“Always, darling. Always.”

“To your new flat then Rog?” John asked, glancing between the two of them.

Roger nodded to him, before saying to Sher, “We’re better off there anyway. I got these ridiculously tall trees around the whole building, you’re gonna love it.”

Sher didn’t say anything. She just let him take her there.

Once they reached his apartment, she finally broke through the facade and wept. He didn’t say anything as he carried her to the bedroom. Because what was there to say?

With a heavy heart, Sher slept, if only to escape for a few more hours.

——————————

The dark alley ended abruptly with a tall, cement wall. Sher realized she was trapped. And behind her were the few men who had been trailing her all night. She screamed and screamed but all that came out was a dry whimper. The men approached her, calling her all sorts of nasty insults as their eyes roamed around her exposed skin. But before they reached her, Sher blinked her eyes open.

She woke up in a cold sweat, the lingering fear still fresh in her mind.

The room was lit with a soft golden light, but outside the large windows, it was pitch black. She didn’t know what time it was, or cared enough to find out.

Instead, she felt around the bed for Roger, but when her fingers found cold pillows instead, she sighed.

She wanted more than anything to stay under the heaps of blanket, but her back was sticky with sweat and it made her uneasy. Made her feel unclean. So she dragged her feet out of the bed and took a hot, steaming shower. It took all her energy to get out of the warmth and into the cold room. After searching the sparse closets meticulously, she finally found the blue sweatshirt. She almost sobbed when she pulled her head through the soft material and his cologne enveloped her.

Alone, the silence was unbearable. So she ignored her grumbling belly and forced her puffy eyes closed. She didn’t realize one could be too tired to sleep. But it was a better alternative than the real world.

——————————

When she woke up again, this time she wasn’t alone. The night was still quiet, the golden light still on, but she was cocooned in Roger’s arms.

Sher wrapped her arms tighter around him— burying her head on his chest— and exhaled.

They were quiet for what felt like hours, the only movement was Roger’s hands as he trailed lazy circles on her back. She could hear the occasional hums he did, but her head was still heavy from all the crying so she couldn’t tell if they were her imagination.

Finally, when her head cleared up, and her voice could be trusted not to break, she asked, “where were you?”

He kissed the top of her head. “Had to talk to the construction crew. We didn’t expect to be moving in this week, so I had him install lights all around the flat.”

“Lights?”

“So you can walk around at night,” he said absentmindedly as he twirled a strand of her hair. As if the act itself wasn’t the greatest, most considerate thing anyone had ever done for her. To keep her fear of the darkness at bay.

Sher broke into ugly sobs against his chest. The sound so soft against the crickets chirping outside.

“What’s wrong?”

She shook her head and looked up at him through wet lashes, “I kinda love you, Roger Taylor. Bruises, green hair, and all, I love you.”

At that, his furrowed brows turned into a soft whimper as he reached to kiss her. Sher rolled from her side to pull herself on top of him.

Then, she kissed him with everything she had. Every ounce of affection and appreciation, she poured to him through the kiss.

When she pulled away, the two of them were breathing hard against each other. His eyes were feverish and heavy as he stared at her. Sher reached to unbutton his silk top but he shook her hands away.

“Don’t you want…?” Sher trailed but at the pained look in his eyes, pulled herself from him, “ _Oh_. I’m sorry, I thought—”

“No,” he closed his eyes, before he sat up and pulled her back to his lap, “are you mental? of course I want you. I will always want you.”

“Then why?”

“Why? You’ve been crying your heart out all day, _Sher_. I know you’re upset, so why won’t you talk to me?” He mumbled.

“Because talking is hard. I just have… feelings, overwhelming ones.”

“Alright, then tell me about them. It doesn’t have to make sense. God knows none of it does right now.”

Wrapped in his warm hands, Sher finally let go. She poured her sorrows out to him. All the shame, rage, the unfairness of it all. All the anger at being pinned for something she didn’t do. And how _powerless_ she was in all of it. How useless she’d felt the whole day.

But he was right. As he sprinkled kisses on her and held her when she sobbed, she did feel a tiny, tiny bit lighter. Because she’d prove them all wrong, someday.

But as a wise blondie once said, she didn’t need to figure it all out in one night.


	19. dancing queen

🎧 _dancing queen by abba_ 🎧

“You guys sure it’s safe?” Sher asked as she touched up her eyeliner wing on the mirror of their convertible.

“If Bri can do it, I think we all stand a chance,” Ezra said from the back seat. He shut his eyes, letting Laia hairspray his auburn curls into place.

“It’s true,” Laia said, “he’s built like a long tree that one.”

Sher watched through a literal rose-colored glasses as Roger pulled into the driver’s seat in a quintessential 70s look. His tight-fitting white trousers and white top did wonders to highlight the blonde streaks in his hair. She’d almost forget they were bright green just a few months before. _Almost._

Sher herself paired a holographic puffy jacket with white shorts, but the highlight was her lollipop-coloured tube socks. She pulled it up her knees, watching the reds and yellows swirl together. “I mean the paparazzi, you guys.”

“Nah, we’ve got the place to ourselves,” Roger winked, “Don’t worry, cat. Did you forget how filthy rich we are now?”

Sher snorted but knew he was right. A Night at the Opera had flown up the charts and with it, granted them fat cheques. And true to their reputation, Queen was already planning for the next album. But the past few months were also spent cooped in their respective apartments. Not only for creativity’s sake, but also because the vicious press had been hounding Roger, Sher and Freddie endlessly. They’d hosted many parties to counter the gloomy mood, but nothing as grand as renting a roller rink for the night.

“Alright, let’s see what tonight’s soundtrack of the world is,” Roger said, one hand one the steering wheel, the other fiddling with the radio.

His groan was matched only by Laia’s squeals when the radio chose ABBA’s Dancing Queen.

“Betrayed, by my own radio,” he muttered.

“Don’t you dare change it, Rog,” Laia said before she stood up in her seat. Sher watched as her best friend closed her eyes, letting the summer wind brush her hair, and sang her heart out. Ezra’s gaze never left her face, not once.

Sher took a blurry picture of them with her polaroid. Then she aimed her camera at Roger, capturing the sweet smile he had for Laia and Ezra when he, too, noticed them.

The flash caught him off-guard and he raised his brows at her, “What’s that for?”

“Memories.” She tried to say it cheerfully.

“Well then, get another one of me.” He puckered his lips for the camera, making Sher snort. But she also took a clear shot of him grinning at himself for successfully making her laugh. Because laughter was a rarity those days.

But when the final chorus rose, Sher felt freer than she had ever been.

It was probably a driving hazard to be cupping Roger’s cheeks as she sang the chorus to him— but the thrill of being youthful and in love— it was enough to make her feel _invincible._

——————————

The roller rink was retro and loud.

A silver ball spun above the dim auditorium, blinking lights on the dancing crowd. Sher spotted neon tracksuits and glow-in-the-dark skates in the sea of roadies and friends. It was bewitching.

And the music— it boomed around her— surrounding the place with upbeat Top 40s. If she could dive into the group of people bellowing Stayin’ Alive, she would.

But she was pulled out of the trance when Roger held two pairs of skates in his hands. “Ready to out-skate them all?”

“That depends on how great a tutor you are, Roger Taylor.” She plucked the smaller skates from his hands.

“He didn’t tell you?” Freddie’s voice boomed from behind her. He skated to them, placing his hand on Roger’s chin, “this man doesn’t fucking skate.”

“Roger and graceful dancing can’t exist in the same universe,” Brian said as he twirled effortlessly around them. He winked at Sher. “But we’ll teach you the important bits.”

“Excuse me? Grace is my _birthright_ ,” Roger said.

Before she could witness another feud though, Freddie smirked and pulled her to the rink.

“Oi!” Brian roared from behind them, “Why do _I_ get Roger?”

If Sher wasn’t so focused on keeping her butt off the floor, she would’ve laughed. “Slow down, Freddie!” she shrieked.

“Sorry, their bickering hurts my head.”

“At least you don’t have to hear them arguing on the telephone every day.”

“About the new album?” Freddie asked.

“Not even. The other day it was on the best Beatles song.”

His smile, like it always did the past few months, sobered into a sigh. “How are you holding up, Sherplum?”

“Alright,” she paused, “you?”

“As _alright_ as you are,” he raised his brows, skeptical of her answer.

Sher sighed. “I’m sorry, Fred. If it wasn’t for me they wouldn’t have—”

“Stop that. They would’ve figured it out eventually. At least the boys aren’t shy to approach me anymore. Since it’s public knowledge and all.”

But Sher saw the bitterness he still held for the press. For outing him on public media. It had raged the band into swearing off interviews with most printing press.

Sher pulled him into a long hug. “Screw those assholes. You are so _so_ loved, you know that right?”

“I do,” he said softly, before clearing his throat. “Alright, forget the scumbags. Tonight is _ours_.”

That, too, had become their thing. After the press had hunted their apartments for pictures, their lives were no longer private. No longer _theirs._

So they had started counting the small wins. Like their apartment parties, or the brunches they had while under-cover. Small wins, but so important to them.

“It is ours,” she echoed, letting him sweep her into the dance floor.

——————————

🎧 _ymca by village people_ 🎧  


Sher was a quick learner. 

An hour into skating under Freddie’s guide, the giant stereos played YMCA. She watched in awe as the crowd before her transformed into frenzy teenagers, no longer roadies in their mid-twenties.

“Magnificent, isn’t it?” Freddie shouted over the music. A twinkle of mischief glimmered in his eyes. “Ready, Sher?”

“Not really.” But Sher followed his lead and they skated towards the group. Around her, people twirled and glided across smooth floor like ballet dancers. Sher couldn’t stop grinning.

And, when the chorus reached its peak, Freddie’s smile bloomed into such a grand thing, Sher forgot to panic. Even when his hand slipped out of hers. She didn’t falter.

Because Sher was a quick learner, which also made her brave. She twirled around, grinning when Freddie picked up her cue and circled around her.

 _“I said, young man, what do you want to be?”_ Freddie shouted.

Sher pointed at him, _“I said, young man, you can make real your dreams!”_

They fell back into each other, sweat-slicked and laughing. There was a specific euphoria reserved for the goofy dancing one pulled in front of friends. And the both of them pulled no stops as they easily out-danced each other. Jazz hands, shimmy, all of it.

Sher glanced away once and saw John and Veronica lining up for spiked hot chocolates with Laia and Ezra.

“Of course the couples are coupling,” she said.

“Wait till you see the other two,” he said, turning Sher around to face them. And the sight made her double over in laughter.

At the corner of the rink, a grumpy Roger was gripping Brian’s waist for support, trailing behind him. Brian was visibly getting impatient, shouting instructions back at Roger. But when Roger finally unclasped his hands to skate alone, Brian cheered, even fluffing his hair once before they skated past each other to high five.

Then Roger saw her, and his smile grew.

“Aaaand that’s my cue to leave,” Freddie tapped Sher’s nose once, before disappearing into the crowd.

It was intoxicating. The dim lights, the music, the look on Roger’s face when he skated towards her.

“Hi, gorgeous.” She tugged him closer, resting her arms on his shoulder.

His flushed cheek grew redder. It always confused Sher how he could be both confident and shy. How he could casually boast of his beauty but still blush when she pointed them back at him.

“Seems like you got the better teacher,” he shouted.

Sher heard him, but shook her head, pretending she hadn’t. When he moved closer to repeat his words, Sher kissed him.

It caught him off-guard.

Sher _liked_ catching him off-guard.

It was one of the little quirks she’d discovered about them, especially after living together for a few months.

The softness of his lips made her insides melt. Cigarette and cologne— a Roger Taylor special.

“Catch me if you can,” she breathed against his lips.

He raised his brows, but she skated away, watching as shock morphed into a wicked smile on his face. And the two of them, although nowhere as skilled as everyone else, glided around the rink in a chase. Whenever he caught up to her, they’d fall into happy kisses. Too many times, they crashed on other people, or the metal railing surrounding the rink, or the floor, but it only made their laugh ring harder.

Their chase ended only when the the upbeat music dipped into a slow love song. The crowd groaned in unison, the singles glaring at the couples before skating to the bar.

As much as she wanted to slow dance though, her ankles were killing her.

“Pause?” She rubbed at her sore legs.

“Pause,” he dropped a kiss on her cheek.

They found a corner out of the rink and sat down to stretch their sore legs.

“Soon,” he whispered into her ears, “the asshats will leave us alone soon, and then, we’ll have nights like this for the rest of our lives.”

And Sher foolishly believed it.

——————————

🎧 _how deep is your love by bee gees_ 🎧

Ezra and Laia skated to them hours later. They plopped themselves beside Sher. The music had slowed again, this time to the beats of How Deep is Your Love.

“What a night,” Laia glanced dreamily at the crowd, “I love you guys.”

Sher laughed and kissed her left cheek just as Ezra reached for her right cheek.

Laia held them there, “my loves,” she said.

“Alright,” Roger chimed, “I’ll just continue feeling excluded, then.”

Sher wrinkled her nose at him, but found his hands wrapping her shoulders instantly.

“I keep having to steal you back tonight, cat.”

“There’s enough Sher for everyone,” she said as she leaned against his chest, swaying to the music.

At that moment, Brian skated past them and blew kisses to the four of them. Sher and Laia raised their arms to catch the kisses which made him half bow and smile. Seconds later though, a blur of purple whirled past them and shouted _bitches_. Sher only realized it was Freddie when he cheekily stopped to shake his ass at them before catching up to Brian.

“Rockstars, eh?” Laia said.

“And where did one particular rockstar go?” Sher asked.

“Left with Veronica. Apparently the spiked hot chocolate was 80 percent vodka, 20 percent hot chocolate,” Ezra mumbled.

“Bet they’re shagging right now,” Roger said, prompting everyone to groan.

“Man, I’d kill for ice cream right now,” Sher said instead.

Laia nodded. “Especially the swirly mint chocolate ones.”

“With the scrummy sprinkles on the cones,” Ezra said.

“And God, the dark chocolate bottom,” Roger ended.

The four of them sighed longingly for a few minutes.

Then Roger slapped the floor, “We’re fucking adults, you numpties.” He rose and offered his hands to Sher, “Let’s go get the bloody thing.”

“Now?” Sher gaped.

“Yeah, who’s gonna stop us? Our mums and dads?” he laughed.

“Damn right. Let’s go get some fucking ice cream!” Laia shouted in her drunk, happy persona that Sher knew all too well.

They shuffled out of the place like giggling fools.

With the summer wind in their hair, the four of them sped past the city lights.

——————————

They’d found an ice cream parlour a few blocks from Roger’s apartment. The four of them used up two chairs. Laia on Ezra’s lap, Sher on Roger’s.

Roger, in his usual insanity, had ordered every single flavour. It led the four of them to spend a whole twenty minutes arguing as they sorted them from best to worst flavours.

Sher paused occasionally to taste the lemon meringue on Roger’s lips. His favourite.

She was so entranced by the way his lashes curled, she didn’t notice the sudden shift in the air.

She turned around just as the first flash struck.

Blinding white light bathed them. Her eyes didn’t adjust in time, but she knew something was _really_ wrong. Not from Ezra’s curses, but from the way Roger’s grip on her waist tightened.

In slow agony, she blinked furiously. Until her eyes adjusted to show her the scene unfolding outside.

The thick glass windows muted any noise but Sher realized in stark horror that her friends had lied to her.

“But— you said they’ve lost interest in us,” she whispered, dread filling her words, “you said it was getting better.”

No one answered. Outside, at least seventy people clicked their cameras.

Sher whimpered.

“Fuck,” Roger said.

“Backdoor?” Ezra gestured, already pulling Laia up with him.

Roger’s face was pale, but he nodded.

They rushed to exit through the kitchen. The urgency must be clear because no one stopped them.

They paused before a massive metal door that led outside.

“Let’s just stay here,” Laia said.

But Roger shook his head. “They’re already breaking in.”

“Fuck, we shouldn’t have left,” Ezra pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You think they’ll actually… hurt us?” Sher asked.

But no one answered as they all stared at the looming door.

“Alright, alright, let me figure it out.” Roger paced around, biting his nails in a panic.

“ _Hey_.” Sher pulled his hand, brushing over the bitten nails. “We _will_ get out of here.”

He nodded once. “Okay. We aim for the car. And no matter what, we _don’t_ get separated.”

“Alright,” Sher interlocked her hands in his, even as the hairs on her arm rose, “get to the car.”

Roger squeezed her hands once before pushing the door open, “Stay with me.”

Then, the night fell into chaos.


	20. calling all girls

Flashing white lights struck Sher. Blinding her.

Like a mob with cameras for pitchforks, they swarmed around the four of them— shouting, pushing, touching.

Roger pushed against them, trying to carve out a path for them, but it was a fortress of people against the four of them.

She looked back— but instead of Laia and Ezra— found strangers closing in on her. Panic grew in her chest. She knew then, she couldn’t lose Roger. Or she’d never make it out.

Her nails dug into his skin, gripping his hand.

But the crowd of people only pushed harder, shouting insults and questions at them.

Roger used his body to shield Sher but they were stuck. Hands all around her as they tried pulling her into different directions.

Insanity. Blinding lights and insanity.

The crowd eclipsed everything else.

Someone pulled her hair, dragging her back.

Sher screamed.

Then her sweaty palm lost its grip.

And she was instantly thrown into the pit of the crowd. In slow horror, she realized she’d let go of Roger’s hand.

Sher tripped, her legs tangled up with everyone else’s, shoving her to the ground.

She gasped for air, scratching at people’s legs to pull herself up. But the bodies only trapped her into a suffocating pit.

Sher punched through the legs around her, pushing herself up, but nothing.

She screamed then, but they were too powerful.

Then a hand gripped her waist and pulled her upwards.

She almost spat at the man but saw the flurry of red and released a sob. Sher held on to Ezra and the two of them pushed past the crowd.

“Where’s Laia?” Sher shouted.

“I don’t know!” his answer was frantic and Sher realized he was breathing just as hard, but he grabbed her by the waist and the two of them pushed and pushed against the crowd.

Sher lost it, then.

Rage fuelled her, and she started kicking and scratching at the people around her.

In the midst of the horror, she’d realized she’d had enough. Not her friends. Not Roger. They could attack her, but not _them_. She seethed with a cold fury.

“Serves you right!” Someone spat at her and Sher didn’t think twice as she threw her fist into the man’s face. The pain in her knuckles almost made her drop her fight. But the adrenaline rush kept her going.

And the minutes felt like hours. But the second they reached the end of the crowd, Sher broke into a run.

Ezra was coughing beside her, but the two didn’t stop running.

They saw the car, already swarmed with a crowd and made a quick decision to dodge it. Instead, they ran to the closest alley and hid behind an industrial trash bin.

“What the fuck,” Sher half-sobbed, half-screamed, “where’s—”

“I don’t know. I don’t know,” Ezra pulled at his hair, “I had her and then I didn’t. She slipped, _I don’t know_ , Sher.”

“Hey.” Sher held his face firmly with her bloodied hands. “She’ll be alright, _they_ ’ll be alright,” she said, even as the same dread threatened to swallow her whole.

But one of them had to stay rational.

“Roger?” he asked.

“I lost him.” Sher inhaled, forcing air into her lungs. “What do we do?”

“Go back, I’ll run in there—”

“No,” she hissed, “the flat’s a block away. We must get help.”

“But she’s—”

“Ezra! Listen!” she begged, “we have to get help. Call the police. Get Freddie and Bri. We can’t find them alone.”

Slowly, he nodded, letting Sher drag him away from the parking lot.

They swerved past the busy streets, sticking to the shadows. By the time they reached the apartment, Sher was out of breath. Ezra collapsed at the entrance, but Sher ran to the telephone. Her knees shook, but she had no time to gather herself.

“What’s the emergency number?”

Ezra blinked twice, stared at the door, and croaked, “999.”

Sher pressed the button in a panic.

“If anything happens—”

“Don’t,” Sher’s voice shook, “it’s not gonna help.”

But before the call connected, the door slammed open.

Laia entered with a gasp— face pale as snow— as she held her arm.

Without missing a beat, Ezra ran to her, crushing a sobbing Laia in his arms.

“Sher?” a voice called out from outside, “is she ther—”

Roger swayed into the room and, at the sight of her, fell to his knees. His shoulder sagged in relief.

Sher ran the few feet, before dropping herself in front of him.

“Are you—” he scanned her face, the same way she scanned his. For injuries.

“Yes,” she breathed. But her relief was cut short by the sight of his bleeding lip and torn shirt, “what happened?”

“Crashed the car,” he said, before dropping his head into her lap in a sigh. “But alright, Laia—”

“S’okay.” Laia’s chin trembled as she spoke. “W—we drove around, but you weren’t anywhere— we thought we lost you guys. ”

“So did we.” Sher thumbed his hair soothingly, grateful no one ended in a hospital that night.

“Fucking press.” Roger’s growl was muffled by her lap. He curled his arms around her waist, “I’ll fucking murder the lot of them.”

Sher glanced around her friends— the people she loved more than anything,— and realized she’d had enough. Her fear morphed into anger as she realized what had happened.

She’d kept a low profile for months but it clearly only made things worse.

Sher gritted her teeth. “I’m done playing their games.” Her fury was as solid as the plan forming in her head. To fight back.

Roger raised his head to look at her, brows furrowed. “What?”

With rage still roaring in her bones, she eyed the three of them. “Get the band for a meeting. These bastards want a battle? Alright,” Sher said in a deathly quiet, “we’ll serve them the fucking war.”

——————————

After tossing in bed for hours, Sher finally gave up on sleep. Her nerves were too wired to let her slip into the quiet night.

She carefully untangled herself from Roger and tiptoed to the kitchen to brew some coffee. The flames of her anger still roared within her, but this time, she could direct it towards a purpose. This time, she could scheme and plot towards a revolution.

“Just like old times, eh?”

Sher yelped and saw Laia sitting in the dim living room couch, “what are you doing up?”

“Thinking, you?”

“Strategizing,” Sher said.

“Epic, pass me a mug and I’ll be there with you.”

“ _Laia_ ,” she tried— but seeing Laia's crossed arm— she poured her a cup.

Sher kissed the top of Laia’s head, before plopping herself on the couch. As they sipped their drinks, they fell into comfortable silence, the kind that existed only between the closest of people.

“I can’t sleep,” Sher admitted after a while, “because I’m so angry.”

“And I’m still scared.”

Sher sighed and pulled her friend into a hug, “I’m sorry. I’m working on it. I’ll figure it out.”

Laia stared at her mug. “I know you will. Just— whatever you do— don’t do it for me.“

“What?” Sher pulled from the hug. “Why would you say that?”

“Because I’m leaving, love.” Laia’s lip trembled but her voice was steady, resolute. “So do it for everyone else. Don’t let tonight happen to anyone else.”

Sher took a big gulp, but nodded. The weight of their looming separation settling on her shoulders. Yet another pain to carry. The natural pain of living.

“What will you do?” Laia asked.

“Protect you, _all of you_ ,” she paused, swirling her coffee. “And to be heard, I need to take out the biggest predators. So long as the roots stay hidden under ground, there is no use plucking out the many leaves of a tree. No, I have to unroot the tree itself.”

Laia inhaled sharply. “The business tycoons? Sher, that’s suicide.”

“And I’d rather die trying,” Sher echoed Roger’s words, “than be a bystander.”

When Laia shut her eyes, she was the picture of exhaustion, but eventually, she exhaled. And her eyes, when they found hers, were filled with pain, but also understanding.

“And _that’s_ enough for me,” Sher smiled sadly.

Because Laia had let her go.

It was dangerous. But Laia loved her enough to trust her. Because the hardest thing about loving someone was letting them fight a war you couldn’t save them from. .

Sher refilled their mugs.

“It might take years,” Sher said eventually, “to gather all the evidence.”

“ _Oh_.”

“Yeah.”

“Give them hell,” Laia smiled, even as tears pooled her eyes. Then they began sharpening their ideas into a plan, all the while, not knowing if Laia would be there to witness its execution.

——————————

“Bring down the music blokes?” Brian paled.

“Sher, I support you and everything, but I don’t think Queen can survive all that. They hate us enough as it is,” John said.

“I know,” Sher paused, “which is why I’m quitting Queen and—”

“Oh don’t say that. There’s no need to quit anything,” Freddie said, a cigarette hanging loosely on his lips, “I can still hire you for my make up. That’s not music-related, is it?”

“No, Fred. I need them to find me utterly _uninteresting_. It’s a necessary evil. I have to distance myself from you guys. Which leads me to—” Sher eyed Roger— “you.”

“Ah, my time to shine,” he grinned and stood up, “what do I have to do? Punch some wankers? Strip to distract the bandits?”

Sher grimaced. “We’ll have to stop seeing each other.”

At that he paused, staring at her as if she’d grown two heads, before uttering a solid, “no.”

“Just for a bit.”

“No,” he said softer. He pulled her closer, looping his hands around her waist, “we’ll pretend, if you really need us to. But there’s no way I’m doing that again.”

Sher looked him in the eyes, realizing she wouldn’t have made it a day without him anyway. She sighed. “Alright.”

He nodded and kissed the top of her head. Then he faced the group, nodding seriously. “We’re pretending to break up.”

“Yes.” Brian rolled his eyes, “we’re aware. we heard you the first time, dimwit.”

John hid his laugh with a cough but Freddie snorted out loud, slapping the couch.

“Alright,” Sher pulled them back into focus, “I’ll fade into irrelevance, take less make up gigs, do everything to get the press off my tail. Then, the real work begins.”

“You still haven’t told us what exactly you’ll do, Sherplum,” Freddie said.

Sher nodded. “I’ll get concrete evidence of the bastards during their act, and expose them. The rest, will be on the world. I can’t make anyone care enough to do anything. But I can give them the truth. Humanity will decide if it’s enough.”

“And if it’s not?” Roger said, concern glazing his words.

Sher smiled sadly, stroking his cheek. “Then it’s the more reason to do it, love. I _have_ to believe everyone is capable of good. This movement provides them the chance to prove it.”

She exhaled, facing the couch. “But it’ll be on us. Not Queen.”

“Us?” John asked.

“Yes, John.”

Sher eyed the four of them.

“With help from the people this industry has overlooked. The one group who knows everybody but isn’t known in return.”

The men looked at each other.

“The ones who have been discarded, labelled worthless,” Sher continued, “who has _every_ right to despise these bastards.”

Freddie gulped.

“Who?” Roger asked.

Sher smiled. “The groupies.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah, we're so close to the ending, folks 💥💥💥 - bri.


	21. thank god it's christmas

🎧 _last christmas by wham!_ 🎧

The November snow clung stubbornly to Sher’s winter coat. She brushed most of it off before sliding the glass doors open.

When the first whoosh of warm air from the lobby caressed her frozen cheeks, Sher sighed. She’d thought that— being Canadian and all— she’d be immune to the cold. But the 70s really hit the greatest list for coldest winters for a reason.

Sher smiled at the pine trees already donned up prettily in fairy lights and waved at the security she’d grown to know.

She strolled inside the elevator, unable to resist the temptation of swaying to the tunes. It was one of the classics that would fit right in with the original Cinderella or Snow White movies. Even after the exhausting day she’d had, the magic of Christmas was contagious.

When the elevator opened, Sher faltered at the sight greeting her. Roger— his blonde hair damp and curling at the ends— eyed the ground furiously. He pulled a long drag from his cigarette, massaging the back of his neck.

“Tough day?” Sher asked and watched his eyes soften at the sight of her. She could kiss him right there and then, especially when a lopsided smile graced his goddamn perfect face.

“It’s only the chaos of making the most wicked album ever. But _you’d_ call it a banger, won’t you?” he slid his hands out of his pockets and looped them around her waist.

Sher laughed and fluffed his hair. “Damn right it’ll be a banger. Have you guys decided on a name?”

“How’s A Day at The Races sound to you?” He plopped his head on her shoulder with a sigh.

Sher ran her fingers soothingly through his damp hair, wishing she could take all the stress from him even if it meant adding them to her own growing pile. Sher sighed. They’d both been so busy, there were nights their apartment lie empty. Nights with Roger at the recording studio and Sher at a different city.

Mostly, she was at Jean's apartment in Manchester. They’d decided it was the most covert meeting point, away from the public eye. It was also, 200 miles away from home.

“Brilliant name,” she kissed his cold cheeks and realized he’d been up the roof again, “at least wear a coat when you go up there.”

He scrunched up his nose, “What for? The thought of you is enough to keep me warm, especially the one where you’re in nothing but—”

“Oi,” Sher slapped his shoulder to shush him.

“What?” he quirked his brows knowing exactly what he was doing. “Let Mrs. Norris hear of my passion and desire for—”

Sher quickly unlocked their door to shove a grinning Roger inside before he could share more intimate details to all the residents on their floor. “You cunning timbit,” she shook her head in a smile.

Inside, warm fairy lights greeted them.

They’d spent the whole of November perfecting their Christmas decoration. Only Freddie’s place could compete because he’d gotten a _professional_ to do it. But Sher didn’t mind the imperfections. Not when they’d spent the hours tackling each other in kisses and powdered sugar cookies. And, when the weather got too cold, they’d given up on the mess to snuggle by the fireplace.

Sher dropped her keys into a bowl and strode to the stove to get the kettle boiling.

“How’re the girls?” Roger asked. He sat on the kitchen floor, his fingers always roaming for something to drum on— the floor, the cabinet, Sher’s leg.

“Ariel’s vying for the worst of the slobs,” Sher frowned, “but I don’t know. I can’t let her go in there alone.”

“I think that’s her choice to make, cat.” He looked up at her through his dark lashes. “It won’t be fair to her if you take that agency away from her.”

“I know, you’re right. I just—” she exhaled— “I want her to be safe. And to get out of there the second she gets a recording of the asshole admitting everything. It’s terrifying, to send her in there. But they’re all doing so well, you’ll be proud. Oh! I almost forget, Debbie reached out!”

“Debbie? What’d she say?”

Sher glanced at their pantry and realized the both of them were too exhausted to attempt stirring anything fancy. So she pulled the boxed macaroni and cheese and poured it into a pan.

“That she’d heard there was a groupie movement and how she had a feeling it was me— no, she didn’t tell anyone, relax those brows, blondie— but she’s super interested in getting involved, which is bloody brilliant.”

“Bloody brilliant?” he grinned, “look at you. A year here and you’ve turned into a proper Brit.”

“Duh, with all the sleep talking you do? I can’t even shut my eyes without hearing that goddamn British accent,” she said and laughed when he stuck his tongue out adorably.

“Oh!” he said, “we finally figured out where to host the Christmas party. Guess.”

“Fred’s?” Sher raised her brows.

“Yes! Thank God. It’ll be a mess if we’d have it here.”

Sher fluffed his hair and placed the bowl of mac and cheese on his lap, before sliding beside him with her own bowl. “I mean, we all kinda knew it was gonna be at his place, no?” Sher bit her lips from laughing.

“Did we?” he gaped, “you knew? all along?”

“Duh, he kinda has the biggest place,” she said as she stretched her legs to his and sighed. “I’m gonna miss this.”

“Hey,” he elbowed her in between hungry bites, “it’s not gonna be _that_ different. You’ll just have to don on a moustache when you get in here.”

“Uh, who said anything about _me_ dressing up?” She raised her brows.“If anything, you’re coming into this flat with pigtails and a schoolgirl uniform, sir.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

Sher poked his arm.“Seriously though. After the Christmas party, we have to look properly broken up, okay? It’s important.”

“I know, I know. I’ll even stage us a dramatic fight scene by the bar,” his eyes turned mischievous, “and maybe get Brian on your side so I can have an excuse to throw a punch at the bloke.”

“You’re so thick, I swear. You love that man, stop acting like you don’t.”

“Why, I’m multidimensional, alright? I can love and dislike the curly bastard at the same time. Anyway, can we stop talking about him at home?” he picked up her empty bowl and placed them in the sink, before strolling into the living room.

A second later, their vinyl player started playing the cliche-est song of the century. Sher rolled her eyes but grinned.

“May I have this dance, my lady?” he offered his hand with a flourish.

“You may, good sir,” Sher raised her hands into his sassily, before being pulled to his arms, “Elvis, eh? Thought you’re only into _propah’ hard rock_.”

“Again, the bit with multidimensional human applies here too,” he said and the two of them exhaled as they fell into each other’s arms and slow-danced to Can’t Help Falling in Love with You.

Sher put her head on his shoulder and felt his hands wrap tighter around her, as if he, too, realized the bittersweetness of it all.

But Sher wouldn’t change it for the world.

“How’s it really, with the album?” Sher asked when his eyes kept zoning out.

“I doubt we’ll have it ready by the tenth,” he said as he twirled a strand of her hair absentmindedly, “at this point, I don’t know if it’ll ever be ready.”

“Hey, listen,” Sher reached to massage the stubborn lines on his forehead with her thumb, “You’re Roger fucking Taylor. And I don’t mean the annoyingly always-smug rock star. I mean the Cornwall drummer who crawled his way up and into one of the most vicious industries. That’s no cheap achievement, Rog. So you _will_ kill it. And besides, you’d hate it if it was easy.”

“You think I’m smug? Is it the hair?”

Sher groaned. “You’re a clown.”

He laughed into her hair but whispered, “i know, I know. And for the record, I’m forever thankful I found you, cat. In this madhouse of a world, you’re my sliver of sanity.”

Sher cupped his face to kiss him then.

Her lips had made his a home. So it was with warm familiarity that she fell into the shape and feel of them.

“Save this one for your future roof visits, blondie,” she purred into his ears and watched him break into a sly smile.

“Who says I haven’t been doing just that,” he said as his fingers trailed a path around her hips.

Sher curled her legs around his waist and found his strong arms holding up her thighs. Roger pinned her against the kitchen wall, dropping kisses on her skin. And when he looked up at her, his sea eyes were heavy— but also delicate. Vulnerable. He bared it all to her— the fear, the exhaustion, the crippling insecurities. Everything, all at once.

Sher swooped in to kiss him. And loving him was always different. Sometimes it was fire. Others, a wicked delight. That night, it was a soothing softness.

He sighed, the curses leaving his lips like lines from a poem. His lips never left hers, even as he carried her into their room. Gently, he dropped her into their bed, pulling off her socks and jeans.

Sher pulled him to her, kissing him once. “ _You’re_ my sanity,” she said firmly, “forever. But especially tonight.”

And, as music poured from the living room, they made kings and queens of each other. Like they once promised months ago in a foreign hotel room.

Outside, a snowstorm began to stir.

——————————

🎧 _jingle bell rock by hall & oates _ 🎧

The night before Christmas, the snowstorm hit London.

But the freezing weather and heavy traffic did nothing to hamper the spirits of Freddie Mercury’s grand party. An enchanting blend of Jazz and Christmas tunes served as the most warming welcome. Especially for Roger and Sher who had to sprint from the car to the house three times in the cold.

They exhaled as they dropped the last of the presents Roger had meticulously wrapped for their friends under the giant Christmas tree. A breath later, they were swarmed by hugs and kisses from their friends.

A grinning Fred with his iconic Santa hat carried two glasses of clear liquid towards them, “This hour’s special is peppermint shots. Sher?”

“If you could hear the crack of my heart, Fred, you’d understand just how _devastating_ it is to turn you down,” Sher sighed longingly at the glasses, “but I’m designated driver for Ezra and Laia.”

“Then you, Rog,” Fred turned to him but gasped when even Roger shook his head.

“I’m also fucking _DD-ing_ for that rotter John and his lady,” he frowned and looked around the party as if just realizing all the fun he’d be missing out.

“How did they rope _both_ of you into it?” Freddie asked.

“Do you wanna tell him, or shall I?” Sher crossed her arms at a blushing Roger.

“Lost a bet to Deaky,” He mumbled, “and I might’ve pulled Sher into said bet without her knowing.”

Sher nodded at Freddie. “It was on who could piss off Bri first.” At Freddie’s questioning look, Sher said, “you don’t even want to know. Trust me.”

“But I expected so much of you, Rog! What am I to do without my partner in crime?” he sighed dramatically before throwing the shots down his throat, “Guess I’ll live.”

“Aw, no fair!” Roger whined, “don’t shove it up my face, at least.”

Sher laughed as Freddie waved another shot glass from across the bar. She turned to face the frowning Roger. His nose and cheeks were still red from the cold. Sher grinned when she realized it matched the red sweater he was wearing.

“Didn’t know we could afford a star appearance from Rudolph himself,” she teased.

He narrowed his eyes, before cupping her cheeks and attacking her with soft kisses.

Sher chuckled, trying to push him off her because she’d spent an hour doing her sparkly make up look.

“They’re here! Oh look at how precious,” Ezra called out and blew them kisses, even as his legs swayed unsteadily.

Laia had a light-up reindeer headband in her hands which she clumsily slid into Sher’s hair, “Baby cupid, right Ez?”

Sher realized then, that both Ezra and Laia were many, many glasses deep.

“Baby cupid!” Ezra declared in all seriousness before he reached to give Roger a hug. Roger laughed as Ezra pressed a kiss to his cheek, before telling him how intensely he despised Ezra’s green pants.

“Happy Christmas Eve to you too, angel.” Sher smiled, pulling her best friend into a hug. She felt someone fluff her hair and saw Brian smiling, wearing his cream, knit sweater, “ready for our big break in acting, Sher?”

She kissed his cheek, “with you as my co-actor? Always.” She paused, scanning the room. “Are they here?”

Brian nodded, pointing to the three journalists by the bar. They were out of place amongst friends and family, but it was a necessary evil. For their performance to be heard, they needed the proper audience.

Sher pursed her lips, already mourning how different things would be the next day. She’d have to sneak around to meet the band, or worse, avoid seeing them for a while. But it was yet another necessary evil.

Besides, Jean and Ariel had forsaken their own freedom to fall into anonymity for her cause. She couldn’t let them down. No, that night was her chance to prove them she was willing to do whatever it takes to protect not only her friends, but everyone else.

Sher took one last look around the room, her eyes falling at last to Roger who was grinning at Freddie, absorbed in their own world. For them. She’d do anything and everything for all of them.

“Alright, Bri,” she nodded, “Let’s give these bastards a headline for the ages.”


	22. last christmas i gave you my heart

An abrupt silence fell around the house, the jazz music suddenly jarring and cold.

All eyes were politely averted from the living room— all but the three pair by the bar. Sher gasped, crumpling her face into a frown. Across her, Roger stomped away, clenching his fists.

“You’re _ending_ your relationship with _each other_?” Freddie asked with such an exaggeration, Sher almost face palmed then and there. She saw the quirk of a smile forming on Brian’s lips and sent him a warning look. If any of them let out even a slip of laughter, Sher knew she’d lose it instantly.

Brian took that as his cue to usher Sher away, whispering words of comfort when Sher pointedly sniffled. He swerved past the crowd and steered Sher into the second floor. The second they entered Freddie's bedroom, the two of them broke from stunned silence into howling laughter.

“Did you see Roger’s acting?” Brian gasped in between his laughs, “the lad threw his fist at the table and spent the next _ten minutes_ nursing it. I’m willing to bet he broke a few bones trying to look gallant.”

Sher gripped her belly in laughter, “and our tipsy Freddie—” she choked— “had to interrupt each sentence we said to have a whole ass monologue on the importance of—”

“Trust in relationships,” Brian finished and the two of them fell back into roaring laughter.

“God, Freddie addressing the crowd after the argument was too much,” Sher said.

“And— as if we were reenacting a bloody soap opera— he had to clink his champagne glass after each sentence? What in the bloody hell was he thinking?”

They both were trying so hard to keep their voices down, which, naturally, only made their laughter grow wilder.

“What a mess,” Sher wiped the tears from her eyes, “I hope they buy it, because we’re _never_ doing that again.”

“Oh I think they did. I saw the excited glances they threw each other. As if their hands were already itching to write a damning article on you two.”

“Good. Then we can finally get this thing going.” She smiled, plopping herself on the bed. “Where you off to next?”

“Ah, I don’t know,” he scratched his head, “I mean, you’re all coupled up nowadays. Even Fred’s got that bartender for the night.”

Sher sat up and looped his arm in hers, “Well, pick a cozy spot and I’ll be there with you, Bri. Besides, I can’t be seen anywhere near Roger for the rest of the night.”

“Oh, how are you to cope?” he said, but the hint of a smile began to bloom on his face.

“Terribly, and since I can’t turn to drinks, I’m going to need _you_ to distract me from my woes.”

Brian laughed before nodding solemnly, “alright, to the balcony we shall journey.”

Sher raised her brows. A balcony was the last place she’d considered cozy during a winter storm. But she shrugged and let Brian lead her there. Because that’s what you do when your friends need a little uplifting.

——————————

🎧 _4am by bastille_ 🎧

“See over there?” Brian pointed above them. “That’s Lyra.”

The snowstorm had died down to paint a clear sky splotched with stars. Sher narrowed her eyes to search for the constellation Brian was referring to, but all she saw were distinct points, not the lines connecting them.

“Why Lyra?” she asked as she curled her fingers around her warm cup of tea, “isn’t that the lyre Hermes gifted to Apollo to low-key bribe him?”

“Yes,” he chuckled, “But its voice was so captivating, even inanimate objects stirred to appreciate its lullaby.”

“That’s so poetic, you should write poems, Bri. Or even a book.”

“Ah, there are many things I’d like to do, but—” he grimaced— “i wonder if it’ll even matter.”

“Why not?” Sher asked as she pulled her fur throw closer, wrapping herself in it like a burrito.

“See the stars over there? It has witnessed a different world, perhaps the one with the dinosaurs. But us? We’re insignificant. Because the sky we see is old, the stars dead. So one can’t help but be reminded of how nothing really matters. Even if I find a way to cure every single disease and protect the world, everything I do will be forgotten in two hundred years. Or, the sun explodes and takes us with it. Either way Sher, we are finite.”

Sher never thought the time would come for her to use her favourite Angel quote, so it was with a grand gesture that she said, “If nothing we do matters, then all that matters is what we do.“

Brian cocked his head to the side, “How so?”

“Because if nothing matters, it is up to you to decide what matters. Then all you gotta do is stick to it.”

“Ah,” he said, “that’s a rather optimistic way to see the inevitable apocalypse.”

“Optimism is the thread of sanity that keeps me alive, I think,” Sher said bitterly.

Brian nodded. “It’s just, some days are hard, you know?” he paused. “I have thoughts and, I know they’re useless and absolutely repulsive, but they are _my_ thoughts. So what does that say about me? Why’s my outlook of life so miserable?”

“Because you’re one of the thinkers, Bri. You don’t let life pass by you in a blur. You take it in and measure out each important aspect to think over them later, which makes you overthink the meaning of everything. But sometimes ignorance _can_ be bliss. Because sometimes there is _no_ meaning.”

“I can’t bear the thought of willing ignorance.”

“I know,” sher squeezed his hand, “but it won’t help with the loneliness either.”

At that Brian sighed. “I just see all of you love-doves and feel like I’ll never get there.”

“But you will,” Sher said, “and you’ll laugh at the days you spent stressing over it. So let it go, Bri. Let it happen.”

He nodded grimly, but didn’t say anything as he continued to stare at the sky. Sher wished she could help clear the troubling thoughts brewing in his mind, but it was up to him to let them go.

“Anyway, that’s enough wine for you, sir.”

He smiled ruefully, “If I can’t have my answers, let me at least have—”

“There you are!” Freddie popped his head into the balcony. At the sight of Brian, his face fell into a sobering neutral. “Alright, Bri?”

Brian waved him off, “I’m fine, now go and have a great night with that bartender, you lucky bastard.”

Freddie chuckled but leaned against the door frame, watching the falling snow. “He’s in the loo, so I have a few minutes to spare.”

“Where’s Laia and Ezra?” Sher asked, realizing it was getting late.

“Oh you didn’t know?” Freddie said, “They’re beyond pissed, sleeping on the sofa.”

Sher groaned. “I should probably get them home.”

At that Brian sighed, “I suppose we must return to the party eventually.”

“Hey,” Sher nudged his elbow with hers, “You’ve got me. _Always_.”

“And me,” Freddie said gently. This time without the usual witty sass. “Forever.”

Sher felt it like an arrow through her heart. Forever was a painful thought, so she cast it aside. _Later_ , she said to herself. She’d deal with that later. Even as Roger’s words echoed in her head. _Time waits for no one, Sher, so why try._

Why try. The one question Sher herself couldn’t answer.

——————————

🎧 _exit music - radiohead :)_ 🎧

Downstairs, the crowd had shifted. The hum of conversation still roared, but it was drowned by the smooth jazz and crackling fireplace.

Freddie’s bartender, Leo, promised them another array of drinks, but Sher quickly steered Brian to the kitchen instead. “I’ll fix us the sweetest, thickest hot chocolate. How’s that?”

Brian smiled solemnly, “sounds lovely, Sher.”

Freddie had plastered an “off-limits” sign on the kitchen door. “For the press,” he winked before Sher could even ask.

Inside, was the real Christmas sight.

John and Veronica sat on the kitchen island— John’s head on Veronica’s lap as they nibbled at the Christmas pudding.

With a start, she realized the shirtless man bent over the stove was, in fact, Roger.

Sher and Brian looked at each other.

“Should we even ask?” Sher said.

“Do we _want_ to know?” Brian replied.

Freddie shook his head. “Roger, darling?”

“What now?” He groaned but didn’t turn around. Sher realized he was stirring a pot of something sweet on the stove.

She walked to him, peering into the pot and squealed at the sight of the very hot chocolate she was about to make for Brian.

“God, finally,” he said when he saw her. “I’m going mental babysitting these pissed asshats.”

“What happened to your sweater?” Sher poked his bare chest.

“Ezra stole them,” he frowned angrily, “he spilled drinks on his and _demanded_ mine. And then the whole bloody room chanted “take it off, take it off” for a good five minutes. I had no choice but to take the sodding thing off.”

“Roger,” John said lazily from the table, “ _you_ spilled the drink on him.”

“Fine, Iago,” he narrowed his eyes at John, “make your own hot chocolate, then.”

But Roger continued to stir the pot with a resigned sigh.

“You poor thing,” Sher dropped a kiss on his cold shoulder, before placing her fur throw on his shoulders.

“We’re never DD-ing for these ungrateful wankers again,” he said.

“Agreed,” she managed to say before he dropped the spoon to pull her into a kiss. Despite his chattering teeth, his lips were warm and soft as they always were. She trailed her fingers around his back, under the fur, exploring the familiar slopes of his spine, and tugged him closer.

She smiled against his lips. “Once we drop our wonderful group of friends, I’m all yours, Rudolph.”

He snorted, pulling away from the kiss to reveal a soft smile. “Promise?” he asked, running his thumb softly over her cheek.

Sher looked at the love of her life and nodded. “Promise.”

——————————

🎧 _everybody’s gotta live by love_ 🎧

“Drink, it’ll wake you up for the drive back,” Laia said. The two of them had just dragged a blacked-out Ezra to his room, before Laia had fixed Sher with the cup of coffee.

Sher yawned, forcing her eyes to open. “I didn’t think this through, did I? Bet Rog is also debating the same thing on Deaky’s couch right now.”

Laia kicked all the books on the floor aside, trying to make her path to the couch. Once there, she moved yet another stack of books away from the couch, before finally plopping herself down.

“Then stay here, for the night,” she nudged Sher with her snowflake-patterned socks.

Sher gazed around Ezra’s apartment, noticing the sprawling art and literature that breathed in each corner. Then— in between the obvious tell-tales of Ezra— were the quieter but still evident tell-tales of Laia. The giant stack of anatomy textbooks, the daisies growing in ivory pots, the assortment of coffee in their kitchen drawer.

“I don’t know,” Sher rubbed her eyes. She’d wiped off the make up, but her curled hair still bore red and green glitters— where they’d come from, she had no clue. “I have to call Roger first. Or he’ll think we’ve gone missing or something.” Besides, she made a promise. One she wasn’t willing to break.

Outside, the snow had stopped falling, but the streets were still blanketed in white. Ezra’s window gave them a clear view of the cars still speeding past the night, blasting Christmas music.

“Ugh, if we have phones, we could text him and get this sorted so quickly,” Laia said.

“I know. But I can’t lie, I actually don’t miss the phones.”

“Oh here we go, miss I-only-live-in-the-moment,” Laia rolled her eyes theatrically, “Speak for yourself ma’am. I can’t wait to scroll endlessly and enrich my life with aesthetically pleasing pictures again.”

Sher snorted and threw a couch pillow at her, “Millennial.”

“Boomer,” Laia flipped her off.

“Does that make me a Gen Z?” a voice called from behind Sher.

Sher screamed.

Laia gasped.

And without thinking twice, Sher flung her hot cup of coffee into Jimi Hendrix’s face.


	23. landslide

There was a dead rockstar in her living room. Laia blinked, repeating the sentence over and over in her head.

Jimi Hendrix wiped the coffee off his face with his sleeves. “Fucking delightful,” he muttered.

_A dead rockstar. In her living room._

Then it clicked. It might have taken a minute, but it clicked. Laia had to admit, from the curly mane to the floral long-sleeves— it was an accurate depiction of Jimi.

“Fake Jimi?” Laia asked Sher, who nodded in return.

“Hey, watch who you’re calling fake, lady.” He narrowed his eyes, before breaking into the sweetest, dimpled smile.“I’m only kidding! Now, how are my two favourite girls faring?”

Laia opened her mouth but it was Sher who answered. “What are you doing here?”

He tsk-ed at Sher, before twirling his hands into the air, releasing a fitting purple haze. “Why, we have a deal, remember? I’ve come to claim it.”

——————————

Sher stared at Laia whose expression mirrored hers— with dread.

“Already?” Laia asked.

“When?” Sher added.

“Let’s see,” fake Jimi twirled his fingers again and this time, the purple sparks formed a number. “Four days.”

“Four? That’s it?” Laia blanched. “I can’t— it’s too early!”

Fake Jimi glanced between the two of them, a question beginning to form on his lips but Sher spoke first. “Give us a month.”

“What? No.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Listen, it’s not up to me, sweetheart. I just come here and deliver the message until eternity itself swallows me whole,” he ended bitterly.

“Deliver messages from who? A higher power?” Laia asked.

His chuckle sent chills down Sher’s spine. “No, child. No power of good would place anyone in my position. This isn’t a job,” he smiled grimly, “it’s punishment.”

Across her, Laia narrowed her eyes, sizing him up like she always did with people she didn’t trust.

“How does it work, then?” Sher asked, “there _must_ be a loophole. To extend the stay.”

“You really think I’ve hidden something from you?” he hissed but his eyes never left Laia’s as he spoke. “Sit yourselves down and _think_ for a second. Aren’t _you_ supposed to be the scientist?”

“Whoa, no need to get upset—” Sher said, before fake Jimi turned his fiery glare at her.

“Upset?” he snarled, “I am beyond upset, child! I’m the fool who got stuck with the most self-centric species in the universe. You lot are all the same, incapable of breaking the _chain_. So don’t tell me I can’t be upset when it’s all I have left!”

He must’ve noticed Sher and Laia cringing away from him, because he exhaled harshly. “Sorry,” he muttered, “It’s just, eternal damnation isn’t exactly a happy bubble to be in. And you two are my last resort, it seems.”

“I see,” Laia nodded at him, her face a cool neutral. “But you said, before, that you can’t tell us what happens in the future. Because the structure of time and space itself will collapse if you do.”

“Yes,” he said impatiently, “I cannot confirm nor deny if your actions can change the world. Why is this relevant?”

“No reason, just clarifying,” Laia said.

And if she was a stranger and not her best friend, Sher wouldn’t have noticed the way her fingers curled into fists. The way they always did when Laia was lying.

Sher scanned her face, but like a shut door, it was neutral. _Forced_ neutral.

“Alright, I’ll come back in four days when you have your decision,” he said.

“Oh, we’ve already decided,” Sher replied.

Fake Jimi gaped. “You have?”

“Uh, yeah,” Sher said, “we just want more time with each other—”

“Each other?” he narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean with _each other_?”

Sher sensed it instantly— the wrongness, but she brushed it away.

“What’s your decision?” he asked, fists clenched in… fear? With a start, Sher realized the creature in front of them wasn’t as emotionless as she’d initially thought. No, he was invested in their decision. But why? There were too many questions and not enough answers. Again, Sher shook them to the side.

“I’m staying,” Sher said, “Laia’s leaving.”

Then that fear in his eyes dissipated. Swallowed in an emotion far more dangerous— disappointment.

Sher knew, then. Even as Laia looked between them in confusion, she knew. And the world slipped from under her.

“What’s wrong?” Laia asked, “what is it? Sher?”

“That’s… not happening,” Fake Jimi had the decency to grimace. “Let me clarify… you don’t get to leave the other one behind.”

“What?” Laia breathed.

“Because,” he said flatly, “either the two of you stay, or the two of you leave.”

The silence that hung around them was tight. Like a noose, choking every bit of light.

“No,” Laia gasped.

 _No,_ the word sounding so small against the largeness of the world. Against the odds suddenly stacked against them.

Fake Jimi looked grim. Whatever light of hope he previously had, snuffed. He rubbed his face and when he looked at Sher, his eyes were devoid of emotions.

“I’ll come back in four days,” he said quietly before shoving his hands into his pockets and walking away. A purple fog rose from the ground and swallowed him in it.

When it dissipated away, fake Jimi Hendrix was gone, leaving the two girls in their deafening silence.

——————————

The silence grew from a tiny spark into a forest fire.

As the two of them sat there, it roared around them, burning the apartment down. It sent invisible smoke up into the air, choking Sher from uttering a single word.

Because what could she say?

It didn’t matter, if they stayed or left.

Either way, one of them would live half a life, while the other witnessed.

And Sher knew they’d grow to despise one another after a while. Because how could they not? When the other served as a reminder of what they lost. So, no, it didn’t matter.

Either way, they’d burn until they were nothing but ash.

So Sher let the fire of silence engulf them until her eyes were too tired to stay open.

——————————

Sher blinked away the sleep and found the living room still lit in a soft light. Outside, the night sky glared proudly. The sight made her sick.

She didn’t bother looking for Laia. She grabbed her car keys and left.

Then she drove around, aimlessly.

And in the early morning, the empty streets were soothing. But Sher was tired— the exhaustion reigning deep in her bones. Because she knew she could never win.

But she kept driving, even as everything around her screamed of the life she could’ve had. Even as her head waged a war on itself. 

A hopelessness grew within her, it hollowed her out.

Sher thought if she could reach a state of emptiness, she’d be alright. If she could cease to feel, she’d be okay. But it never came. Even as she screamed and slammed the steering wheel, she couldn’t get _it_ off her chest— the agony.

When her eyes were too blurry to see, she finally pulled over to a gas station.

The instant she parked her car, her shoulders shook with the sobs.

Maybe it was always meant to end that way. Maybe, for some, happiness only came in brief moments. And maybe her time was up.

She stared into her reflection in the rear mirror, realizing she’d made her decision.

Even if it smothered every light in her, she’d do it. She’d leave.

Laia didn’t let herself feel— not yet. Instead, she went over the cold facts. Over and over and over, she replayed their conversation. Because there must be a way out. But sitting across Sher, watching the darkness coil around her best friend, she realized she couldn’t bear it. The second Sher fell asleep, she got up.

She walked to her bedroom, but stopped at the door. At the sight of Ezra in Roger’s too-small sweater, she smiled sadly. She’d teased him for curling up in his sleep like a Nematode— until she found out he’d spent his whole childhood sharing a small bed with five brothers. It had broken her heart then, to know she’d one day leave a similar scar.

Quietly, she closed the door and locked herself inside their washroom.

Laia inhaled, before taking a long look at herself.

 _Who are you,_ she asked the reflection staring back at her. When the face only blinked back in confusion, Laia splashed cold water on her face.

 _Who are you?_ She asked again. And again. and again, until she had to wrap her hands around her head to make it stop. Until she couldn’t swallow the sobs anymore. She leaned on the sink, pressing her lips together even as her shoulders shook with the silent sobs. But it wasn’t an unfamiliar view.

She’d hidden it well enough, but Laia always knew she was a coward.

She wasn’t built like Ezra, who could leave his degree and hometown to chase an adventurous life, like roading for a rock band. Or Sher, who didn’t find change terrifying, but exciting. No, Laia believed in science and stability. It hadn’t made her cold— quite the opposite, she loved like she had nothing to lose. But there were some things in life she wouldn’t compromise for.

And the truth was, the 70s made her feel useless. Without her research, she had no purpose. She knew, if it wasn’t for Ezra, she would have spiralled a long time ago.

But it was Ezra, who gifted her anatomy textbooks after hearing her talk of the human spine once. Ezra, who often broke into sobs in her arms after another one of his nightmares. Ezra, who also felt out of place in a room full of friends. Ezra, who despite it all, had kept her tethered and sane.

So why wouldn’t she stay? What kind of asshole _wouldn't_ stay? For Sher and Ezra, she should.

But she _wasn’t_ Sher or Ezra.

_So who the fuck are you?_

She couldn’t bear it anymore. Without thinking twice, she slammed her fist into the mirror. It broke, the shattered pieces falling into the sink. All, but one stubborn piece.

It was through that jagged mirror that her reflection finally glared at her with the answer.

_A heartless coward, that’s who you are._

Because she knew she’d choose to leave.

——————————

🎧 _st jude by florence and the machine_ 🎧

Sher fell asleep again. But this time, when she woke up, it was to the muted knocks on the car window.

The pounding noise grew louder but Sher heard it in a haze.

She had a second of calm as the sunlight glinted against her closed lids, painting the world a warm red.

Then she flicked her eyes open, to see Roger, still wrapped in the same fur throw.

She forgot she had crawled to the backseat that night to curl up and hold herself. Her body ached. Too slowly, she put herself back together and sat up to open the door.

Instantly she was swallowed in his arms. She bit her lips at the familiarity, the way his chin fit perfectly above her head. The way his hands wrapped themselves around her small back.

Sher looked around in a daze. “What’s going on?”

“Why didn’t you call? Fucking hell, Sher,” he exhaled, “Laia said you left her flat and I thought—” he brushed his face, clenching the muscle on his jaw.

Seeing him, Sher touched his cheek gently. Then the events of the previous night came back to her all at once. Sher felt it hit her like a slap.

She let out a dry sob.

His eyes widened and he frantically scanned her, as if trying to figure out what had happened. But Sher just shook her head and sobbed on his cold shoulder. She breathed in the cigarette and cologne that trailed around him like a second skin. It only made everything worse.

Because she didn’t know how to tell him. She didn’t know how to _begin_ to explain any of it.

“ _Hey,_ ” he said softly as he pulled her to his chest. “It’ll be alright, darling. Tell me what’s wrong. You don’t have to carry the whole world by yourself. Not anymore, alright?”

The words struck her, deepening the blows, but Sher closed her eyes and nodded. She’d take the lie, because she wasn’t ready.

“You know,” Roger murmured as his fingers combed through her hair, “when it gets overwhelming, I find myself wandering off into forests and parks.”

Sher looked up at him through puffy eyes. “Why?”

“Because,” he kissed the top of her head, his blue eyes soft and gentle as he cupped her cheeks, “it makes it all alright, somehow. To know that the world has been here long before me. Whatever mess I’m feeling grows small when I take in the whole history of the universe. Because this pain, too, will pass, my love.”

Sher slid herself to his lap and closed the door behind him. She allowed herself to live in that moment, because in a few minutes, he’d loathe her.

It was selfish. But was it so terrible a crime to want another minute with the Roger who still loved her? She convinced herself it was fair. Besides, she wasn’t ready.

“You wanna take a walk, darling?” he murmured into her hair, “I’ll show you, cmon. We can drive all morning to Cornwall and then I’ll show you around the grandest forests and trees. The streets I grew up in. You’ll adore it and forget all about this rubbish place, hmm?”

Internally, she was irreparable, drowning deeper into a dark chasm. But she shook her head.

“That’ll take too long,” her voice was brittle, “Why don’t you describe them to me now. What’s in Cornwall, blondie?”

He laughed softly, the sound so beautiful and crystal clear in her ears. She vowed to memorize it. To eternalize it forever.

Then he cleared his throat and spoke poetry.

“I’ve always thought of it as a small town, but I didn’t realize just how small it is until I toured the world with the band. Especially after Japan. But it retains its beauty, you know? And my absolute favourite is the rhododendrons. Such lovely colours and stubborn personalities. _You’d_ love it.”

Sher snorted. It made him tighten his hold on her.

“The rotters only bloomed in spring, you see,” he continued, “but the magic of Cornwall would make them bloom even in the harshest of winters. And God, the cliffs,” he whispered soothingly, “They’re of _the_ most terrifying heights. And I knew blokes who’d jump off them. But knowing _you_ ,” he kissed the top of her head, “I’m sure you’ll find something beautiful about it. Like you always do.”

Sher laughed. “Cliffs _are_ quite pretty,” she said matter-of-factly.

“See. Knew you’re mental,” he said, “knew it that first night, too. When you pushed me back into that dressing room.”

Sher half laughed half sobbed at the memory. “You mean when you stole Freddie’s robe?”

“Nah. You’re remembering it wrong, cat. I meant when I, a charming gentleman offered to walk you back to the tent and you turned around, stole _my_ beer, and strutted away like the goddess of mischief herself.”

Sher smiled through her blurring vision.

“My mind thought only of you then, even during that dreadful gig. And it boggles me that I’ve witnessed only a fraction of the _madness_ brewing in here,” he tapped her head and Sher slapped his shoulder weakly, but he chuckled and continued. “No, the full storm was only beginning. And you continue to be more fucking perfect each day, you know? And not the perfect that’s flawless because that's boring,” his voice grew tender, “no, you had the guts to come up to me and be the perfect that fits _my_ bloody mess.”

Sher closed her eyes, realizing the world could be beautiful and horrifying at the same time.

And it was enough.

He’d given her enough.

Sher inhaled and pulled out of his arms to face him. Eye to eye with the love of her life, Sher said the words that would break both of them into jagged pieces. But she said it anyway. Because what could you do when the world was both beautiful and horrifying to witness.

So she struck the match.

“I’m leaving, Rog.”

And then she watched as he burned. The way she had. The way Laia had.

The way everyone who was unlucky enough to endure such fates had.

——————————

🎧 _landslide by fleetwood mac_ 🎧

When he was young and naive, Roger used to see the world in colours. Vibrant and inviting, never dull. He’d put on his too-large school uniform and marvel at the beauty with his mates.

Then he watched, each day, as each stroke of pain washed the reds out slightly. And then the yellows and greens.

It was always a tiny shift, the greying. Never drastic, but it was there. And it worried him.

Because what if he’d see the day the world turn grey?

The seven year old in him swore he’d take his cheap crayons and colour over it. He’d save the world. Because who wouldn’t?

Then he learned the world wasn’t all that great, after all.

It was cruel, and harsh.

People hurt. Everyday, around him, people hurt.

So he stopped trying to save it. Maybe the world _was_ meant to turn grey. Maybe growing up meant accepting that the world was immovable.

Until she came along. And she _saw_ the colours, even when they were faded. So he broke his crayons into two and let her eyes guide his hand. Together— they’d save the world together.

But in the midst of her soft laughters and bright eyes, he foolishly forgot that the world was _still_ cruel and harsh.

And damn it, it hurt. Like nothing else, it hurt.

He cracked the car door open, if only to breathe. But once outside, he couldn’t stop. He walked to his car, drove to Fred’s place. Not his, because he couldn’t bear to see it empty— not yet.

And when he found Freddie slumped over the sofa, he shook his shoulders.

“Roof,” he pleaded, “now.”

Freddie groaned, but when he saw Roger’s face, he sat up.

The two of them walked past more drunk bodies, until Freddie pulled one off the floor by his shoulder.

A sleepy Brian protested, already ready to fling curses at them, but Freddie shushed him with a look. Brian glanced between the two of them and paled. “What’s wrong?”

“We’re going for a smoke,” Freddie said stiffly.

Roger tuned the rest of it out, his mind already racing to numb everything. Like he always did. Because talking was painful.

Staring at the view below them, he finally chuckled— the sound so foreign and bitter, it made Freddie and Brian share a look.

“What is it, Rog?” Freddie said gently.

Roger shook his head. “Who would’ve thought, that of all mornings, the world would turn grey on Christmas.”

At Freddie’s questioning look, Roger decided he couldn’t find it in him to care anymore.

Let the world turn black. He was tired of pretending it should be anything else.


	24. the show must go on

Droplets of rain froze as it kissed the cold glass window. Sher watched as the freezing drops began to distort the view outside Jean’s house. Manchester had a flair that most industrial cities did— gritty yet cozy.

“You look like shit,” Jean said, placing a cup of tea into Sher’s hands, before sitting herself down on the dining table.

“ _Jean_ ,” the curvy blonde, Emily, hissed from the kitchen, “be nice.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jean said. Then she bit her lips, eyeing Sher from across the table. “I heard about you and Taylor—”

“S’fine,” Sher quickly said, “I just need to talk to you about the movement.”

Emily chose that moment to place a tray of biscuits on the table. “You’re welcome to stay here if you need to, alright Sher?”

“ _Or_ we can always go on a bender, make you forget for a bit,” Jean offered with a shrug, before Emily smacked her shoulder.

“Do I have to remind you what happened the last month?” Emily said, “When you were so pissed I had to drag your arse off Old Trafford?”

“Ah, but I made up for it when we got home didn’t I, darlin’?” Jean smirked, making Emily roll her eyes.

Sher smiled at the sight of them. “Thanks Em, I’ll be alright. I just need to borrow Jean for an hour.”

“What’s going on?” Jean asked after Emily strolled back to the kitchen.

“I’m going to need you to take a whole lot of responsibility.”

“Cheers,” Jean frowned, “what is it?”

“I need you to replace me.”

Jean blinked at her. “What? Where are you going now?”

“Away, and I need you to take over. I’ll have all of my banking accounts sent to you— everything, every penny— it might last our whole lot a year, which is why—”

“Wait a bloody second, is this real? You’re ditching us?”

Sher sighed, reaching to hold Jean’s hands firmly. “Listen, I don’t have a choice. And I can’t tell you why, and oh God I sound like a lunatic, but you trust me, don’t you? Or you wouldn’t have gone this far with me.”

Jean paused, eyeing her skeptically, “I believe your intentions are true. But that’s as far as it goes. I wouldn’t say I _trust_ you. That’s Ariel’s thing, which is why she’s the one risking her neck out there, but Sher, I fucking swear, if you made her do all that only to let this whole thing fall apart—”

“No,” Sher shook her head. “I fully, truly believe in you girls. And I’m gonna spend all the time I have left trying to figure everything out for all of you. I have a lot of powerful women in the industry on the phone. And it _is_ important work, Jean. Don’t let my absence deter you away from it.”

Jean pinched the bridge of her nose, “what do you want me to do?”

“I have Debbie Harry, Aretha Franklin and Stevie Nicks on board. I’ll make some more calls tonight, possibly get the girls from ABBA as well.”

Her eyes widened. “No way.”

“Yes, and more. You’re gonna travel to meet them, and let them know all about the finances you need. I’ve done the rough calculations to get the whole lot of you safe and paid for the next five years. But I need you to go to each of them by the end of the week. Can you do it?”

“Alright,” Jean nodded firmly, “I can do this. I’m powerful.”

“Bloody right you are,” Emily called out from the kitchen, “A proper powerhouse.”

Sher smiled sadly. “It kills me that I won’t be here to witness it, but you girls are going to change the world.”

“And they’ll never look at groupies the same way again,” Jean smiled. Then she eyed Sher grimly. “Is… Is this why you and Taylor are split up?”

“Oi, you can’t just ask her—” Emily chimed but Sher shook her head.

“It’s more… complex than that.” Sher stared at her cooling cup of tea and sighed. Her head still pounded, and she wanted more than anything to curl up and sleep. But she had been so occupied with the groupie movement, she hadn’t had more than four hours of sleep in the last two days.

At her answer, Jean stood up. “Alright thats it, let’s go.”

“What— where?”

“Outside. Front gate, let’s go.” She pulled a confused Sher out of her seat and dragged her out of the house.

The front gate itself wasn’t a gate in the traditional sense. It was a short, flat-topped block of cement that stretched along the front yard.

Jean shielded their heads with a large umbrella, before plopping herself on top of the _gate_. Sher raised her brows at the whole scene but sat herself beside Jean. Then they watched in silence as rain washed away the snow, shading the gloomy afternoon blue.

“So where’s Roger right now?” Jean asked after a while. She gave Sher control of the umbrella as she searched around her pocket.

“Fred’s probably,” Sher shrugged, “I came back to our flat yesterday and he wasn’t there.”

“And where’s Laia?” she asked, her hands shielding a cigarette pack from the rain. She pulled one out and offered it to Sher.

“Why do you smoke, Jean?” She asked instead.

“You wanna know the truth or the sophisticated lie I pull up whenever pretty girls talk to me?”

Sher snorted. “The truth, always.”

Jean sighed as she puffed a smoke, “truly? Because I thought it’d make me look dead cool.”

“I don’t think anyone has ever doubted your coolness.”

“I wasn’t _always_ gifted with wicked fashion, you know.” Jean bit her lips, nudging Sher with her elbow. “Did I ever tell you, how I ran away from my folks’ place when I was sixteen?” She said it so casually, Sher almost dropped the umbrella.

“What happened?”

“They weren’t… enough,” Jean said, eyeing the empty street across them. “They wanted me to have one of those dull lives the telly is always selling. You know the kinds— grow up, get married to a decent man, have fifty kids, etcetera etcetera. But I knew it wasn’t me,” she said quietly, “so I took a train to London in the middle of the night. Strangely, I’ve never been so sure of myself until I _lost_ myself.”

Sher took the cigarette from Jean’s outstretched hand and put it in between her lips. She watched as Jean quietly lit up the end.

Jean exhaled. “I lost myself trying to be like everyone else— to be the cool girls, the sweethearts, the brilliant uni kids. I mirrored everything they did. Got tatts— the flower and poetry kinds. And I vividly remember sharing my first cigg with the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever met. We were stranded in someone’s front porch and she, having lost everything that night, offered me her last possession. I couldn’t deny her that.”

Sher raised her brows. “How long until you—” her words were interrupted when the hot burn of cigarette smoke filled her throat. Sher coughed, eyeing the cigarette with distrust.

“Ah, it took me another year to realize I didn’t want to be them,” Jean grinned at Sher, “No, I wanted to shag them. And write them poetry, and kiss their little smiles. When that clicked, I knew I could drop the facade and be myself again. Except, certain things you can’t really go back from, can you? This bloody habit I unfortunately haven’t lost since that night, all thanks to one posh blonde lady called Emily.”

Sher raised her brows, “Emily? Your Emily?”

Jean nodded and wrinkled her nose. “Ironically, I don’t even like it. Smoking’s quite vile, you know? But for her, I’d do it fifty million times over.”

Sher chuckled, before throwing her cigarette to the ground. They watched as rain soaked the burning end, sending a twirl of smoke up.

“Where’s Laia, Sher?” Jean asked, gently this time.

“I don’t want to be around her right now,” Sher muttered the ugly truth into the world.

“Does she have anything to do with—”

“No, or, maybe? I don’t… know.” Sher sighed. “It’s all I’ve been thinking about the past few days and my head’s tired. I’m just so… tired.”

“Hmm,” Jean nodded sympathetically.

But the question made her anxious again. Sher didn’t think twice as she leaped off the gate. Instantly, freezing rain poured on her, drenching her hair first, then her sweater.

“Oi, you mental?” Jean shouted.

Sher just shook her head, stretched her arms and faced the grey sky. She let the cold prickling of rain wash everything away. It reminded her of her first night in London. Of the hotel and Laia, when their greatest concern was being stuck in the 70s. Sher glared at the moody clouds for presenting her with the irony.

“You staying over then?” Jean said as she exhaled another puff of smoke.

Sher shook her head, “nah, I’ll be okay.”

“Alright, suit yourself, girl.”

“Jean?” Sher asked even as she shut her eyes, feeling the soft tappings of rain on her eyelids. “What’s your name? Full name.”

“Why does it matter?”

“So I can find you again.”

“Wow, you really are a mental one, huh,” she heard Jean laugh, before she said, “It’s Jean Rivera.”

“Alright, Jean Rivera,” Sher opened her eyes, “I’ll be seeing you in the future.”

——————————

Sher decided it was worth it to drop by their apartment one last time, to get fresh clothes. But she still faltered at the door. With a heavy heart, she unlocked it.

It was empty. Their Christmas tree stood like a witness of better times. Their living room, a chaos of wrapping papers and tapes. It took monumental strength for her to step inside.

Once she did, she ran to the bedroom. She mindlessly shoved clothes into a carry-on. But a whimper escaped her lips when she noticed the silence that greeted her.

There was a lot of that lately— silence. As if words had began to lose its power.

She exhaled sadly before she strode outside. The instant she locked the door, their telephone rang.

Sher paused, leaning against the doorframe. She contemplated leaving it alone. But on its fourth ring, Sher unlocked the door.

She flew inside and picked it up.

“Hello?” she asked weakly.

“Thank God!” Freddie, to her disappointment, answered. “Get your arse to the studio now.”

“ _Freddie_ ,” she breathed, “I.. I can’t. I don’t know if you’ve heard but—”

“Listen, it’s Roger.”

Sher inhaled sharply at his tone. “What’s wrong?”

“He’s— _fucking hell get the drums away, Ezra_ —” his voice faded into a string of curses. “Just get here as fast as you can.”

Sher didn’t wait for him to end the call. She rushed to the car. Whatever was happening, it trumped everything. Sher realized, in that moment of panic and fear that _he_ trumped everything.

She pulled into the small studio and didn’t bother with a coat as she ran into the chaos that was unfolding inside.

Around her, pale-faced roadies whispered and shook their heads.

One of them directed her into the recording room and Sher found the worried faces of her friends snapping to her at her entrance.

Sher caught the scene just as Roger flung the bottle at Ezra, missing his head by an inch.

“Calm down, mate!” Ezra shouted from across the room.

At that, Roger grew livid and snatched another glass bottle. Sher heard a whimper and realized Laia was standing behind Ezra in the corner. But her friend’s eyes flicked between the two men, as if she, too, wanted to intervene and stop whatever was happening.

Too late, Sher noticed the smashed pieces of a brand new drum kit on the floor.

She cursed— realizing her stupid mistake. In all the mess, she’d forgotten her gift. Forgotten to cancel it.

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” she whispered to no one. But the ruins lay defeated on the floor. She didn’t let herself imagine what he must’ve felt when he saw it. Instead, she hardened her heart.

“Rog,” Sher said softly. When he continued to breathe hard and glare at Ezra, Sher called out again, this time firmer, “ _Roger._ ”

He heard her then.

Sher watched as he saw her in a blur. And he furrowed his brows at her, before looking around the room.

Then he glanced at the bottle, watching the way his hands gripped it until his knuckles had turned white.

Sher took it as her signal to come forward.

Silently, she unwrapped his fingers from the bottle, replacing it with her hand. Her eyes never left his— the blue reminding her of a raging stormsea.

Sher almost broke when she saw the shadows under his eyes, the emptiness in his gaze. Because it mirrored hers. Even apart, they had grieved the same way. But her touch was gentle as she pulled him into an empty room.

The instant she closed the door behind them, she watched him transform.

Roger hunched his back, pulled his hands to his face, and broke into sobs. The kind that was ugly and devastating to witness. It hollowed everything inside Sher. But she stayed a metre away.

Frozen in place, she watched as he broke and broke and broke until there couldn’t possibly be any more intact pieces to break.

Numbness— she finally understood the full extent of it. Because it was her fault and there was nothing she could do to fix it.

Roger finally looked at her with tired eyes. And she couldn’t help the sob that escaped her lips, from seeing the familiar exhaustion. The weariness that only certain sadness could conjure. There was so much pain between the two of them, it was blinding.

She crashed into him then, holding his face gently in her hands— even as he winced at her touch.

_How did we get here, my love?_ she thought as she ran her thumb over the rough stubble on his face.

“Sher,” he breathed whiskey and cigarette on her cheeks— before he leaned to touch their foreheads together. “Don’t leave me, alone.”

Cruel— the world was so cruel.

She opened her mouth, but said nothing. Because what was there to say? No words could ever fix the chasm separating them. So, she pulled away slowly, and watched him crumble in defeat.

And his smile was nothing like the Roger she knew— it was bitter, and cold. But he nodded, once, almost to himself. Then Sher saw the instant he brought his walls up. The instant he hid himself from her, locked the door behind a stone cold gaze.

Maybe he finally realized he wouldn’t convince her to stay. Or maybe, he too, had had enough.

But he shoved his hands into his pockets and moved past her coldly.

As if they had never met. As if she was a stranger.

And he didn’t even slam the door on the way out, as if she was never there.

——————————

“Sher?” Laia called as she slowly opened the door.

Sher had stayed inside the room, long after Roger left.

Laia gave her a full hour, before she came in.

The sight that greeted her was a lonely one.

Sher had sat herself on the ground, her chest pulled to her knees as she stared at the wall. But what worried Laia was how blank her stare was. As if she’d gone to a place she couldn’t come back from.

Laia strode the few steps to kneel in front of her. “My love,” she said weakly, “oh my Sher.”

But Sher kept her empty gaze at the wall.

“We have to talk,” Laia said gently. She knew it was the last thing Sher needed, but it was important.

Sher stared at her, but said nothing.

“Listen,” Laia said, “I think I’m on to something. Remember when Fake Jimi said that thing about not knowing if the future could be affected by us? I think—” she bit her lips— “i _know_ he lied. The same way he lied about the alternate timeline and—”

“Have you told Ezra you’re leaving?” Sher asked, so devoid of emotion.

Laia paused. She shook her head, “aren’t you listening? I’m… not ready to give up.”

At that, Sher’s face was filled with an expression she had never directed at Laia before. Pure, unfiltered, disappointment.

“Hey, not fair,” Laia said defensively,

Sher wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt and rose from the ground, not looking at Laia. She muttered, “I’m going to drive.”

“Sher,” Laia pleaded, “listen.”

Sher shrugged Laia off and kept walking.

“Sher, for fucks sake, don’t fucking run.”

At that, Sher stopped in her tracks. With a slowness that sent chills up Laia’s spine, she turned around and chuckled darkly.

“Not once have you offered to stay. Why’s that Laia?” Her words were frosty.

“That’s what I'm trying to figure out, how to get us—”

“I’ll lose everything to protect you,” she said, “why won’t you do the same for me?”

Laia inhaled sharply. She reached to pull Sher into her arms, but Sher leaned away harshly.

“I love you,” Laia pleaded, “I’ll fix this. Just once, trust me, and I’ll fix everything.”

But Sher shook her head, at the question that was left unanswered. “I’m going to drive,” she repeated.

And Laia knew, if she stopped her, she’d lose her forever. So she let her go, even as her heart sank.

——————————

🎧 _the show must go on by queen_ 🎧

Laia searched for Ezra and found him surrounded by Brian, Freddie and John. Their frowns only deepened when they spotted Laia.

“How’s Sher?” John asked.

“Not good,” Laia said, “Roger?”

“Stormed off to God knows where,” Freddie winced.

“We ought to do something,” Ezra bit his lip, “it’s not right.”

“But that’s the thing, isn’t it? There’s nothing we can do,” Brian sighed. “It’s up to them now.”

“If you need anything,” Freddie said to her, “let us know, alright? We’ll brave through this, together. You’re still part of the band, alright Laia? Even if Sher isn’t.” He ended with a grim look, but the rest of the band nodded in agreement.

Laia smiled sadly at the four of them— the complete strangers who had become her closest friends. She wondered if it would be the last time she’d see them. Tears prickled her eyes but she smiled.

“Come here, all of you,” Laia said, pulling all four of them into a group hug. “I love you lot so much. It’s one hell of a gift to call you my mates. Don’t you dare give up on Queen, alright? Even if things get tough.”

John raised his brows, but Brian ruffled her hair and nodded solemnly.

“Don’t go mental now, Laia,” Freddie smiled brightly, “we can’t afford another crazy in this band.”

But it was the red-headed roadie who eyed her oddly. Damn the brilliant guy for seeing through her every facet.

She pulled Ezra to the side. “I’m going to find Sher,” she lied. “Catch you at home?”

“What’s going on, Ly?”

Laia shook her head. “Nothing I can’t handle, my flower. I’ll sort it out. When will you be home?”

“Eleven,” he pursed his lips.

Laia kissed the frown, wondering if that, too, would be the last time she’d do it. The thought made her reach for another kiss, deeper this time.

“I love you,” he said quietly against her lips.

Laia took one last look around the room— at Freddie, Brian and John, and finally her gaze fell on Ezra. “I love you. All of you.” 

And then, with a heavy heart, Laia left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE'RE IN THE ENDGAME NOW, BITCHES.


	25. november rain

🎧 _november rain by guns n' roses_ 🎧

Sher drove through the midnight hours and reached the apartment in the early morning hours.

She took a painfully hot shower before slipping under the covers, but the emptiness of the bed glared back like a sore spot.

And Sher was beyond exhausted, but more than anything, she missed him.

It had only been three days, but she missed the way his voice trailed around the apartment, never too far. She missed the cheeky smile he’d have for her, before he’d make a filthy joke. Or the way he frowned at things he despised. But mostly, she missed how his blue eyes softened when he saw her from across the room.

In a final moment of weakness, Sher realized she couldn’t take it anymore.

Her footsteps were quiet but she reached their flat’s telephone and sat on the floor as she rang the number.

It rang. and it rang. and it rang.

Until it stopped ringing.

“Hello?” his voice was rough.

Sher put her hands against her lips, to steady her shaky voice.

“Hello,” he said, this time fainter.

She heard the slurring of his vowels and felt it like a shot through her heart. So she wasn’t the only one trying to keep herself distracted.

“Sher?” he asked so quietly, it sounded fragile. But there was warmth there. It was enough to strengthen her.

“Hmm,” she let out, “I’m here.”

He was silent for a few minutes and Sher thought he wouldn’t speak again. But it was enough, to know he was on the other side of the phone. To hear even the faintest sound of his breathing.

“It hurts.” She broke the silence with a tremble. “For me, too.”

He scoffed. “Sure as hell doesn’t seem like it,” he said coldly. So unlike the man she loved.

Sher closed her eyes. She was so tired.

But before she could say anything, he exhaled sharply. “Where are you?” he asked.

“Home.”

His chuckle was bitter. “Except that’s not really true, isn’t it?”

“It’s true. It’ll always be true.”

“God, I _hate_ you.”

She choked on a sob. “I know.”

“I’m coming over.”

She swallowed. “Okay.”

“Don’t run.”

“I won’t.”

——————————

Laia found an empty twenty-four hour diner and dropped her bag into a cubicle. Black and white tiles glared at her as she went to order her dinner and a whole pitcher of coffee.

Then, in the midst of jukebox music and a dimly lit corner, Laia began to put the puzzle pieces together.

She could’ve sworn, fake Jimi was trying to tell her something. His sudden outburst of anger didn’t make sense. Especially the pointed glare he’d directed only at Laia. She didn’t buy it. She knew there was a coded message somewhere in there. He’d said something about humans never breaking the chain.

But what could that possibly mean? What chain? The chain of time? Or of events?

Laia groaned, but the pre-med student in her was used to unsolvable questions. So she kept her mug full of caffeine and continued to rake her brain for any clues.

And then, there was the other thing— the fate of the universe thing.

When Fake Jimi was Marilyn, she’d told Sher that denying or confirming their effects on the future could shift the balance of the universe. That it would bring chaos.

Laia hadn’t believe it for one second.

It was too vague to be true. But if it wasn’t true, then what was the truth? What was the time-travelling deity hiding?

Then, in the midst of her roaming thoughts, it hit her.

And it was the thought of her little brother that did it.

She thought of the time he sat by her hospital bed. The first time she overdosed. He had furrowed his brows and asked, “Laia, where do people go after they die?”

Laia had choked up, but reached to kiss his head, “into a world of our choosing, my love. Of flower gardens or golden street or whatever world each of us wants.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” his lip trembled, “because then we’d be separated. And I wanna be with you.”

Then Laia realized her little brother wasn’t so little after all. And she shouldn’t make up dumb, vague lies. She touched his cheeks and said firmly, “you’re a smart kid. The truth is, my rosebud, I don’t know.”

Because sometimes, you conjure vague lies to questions that had no answer.

Laia gasped at her notes.

Fake Jimi couldn’t tell them, not because the state of the timeline and universe depended on them staying clueless. No, he couldn’t tell because he _didn’t_ know.

Because…. no one had chosen to stay before. Which meant the chain, whatever it was, would rest upon their decision to leave.

Laia shoved all of her notes into her backpack and rushed into her car.

She had one chance to keep Sher safe. Because for once, she had leverage against the deity. She prayed it was enough.

But in case it wasn’t, Laia knew she needed to do something first. Before she could ride into battle, she needed to do one _last_ thing.

Laia opened the door and was struck by the sight of Ezra sleeping on the couch. Beside him was a sketch of his next tattoo, a book resting on his chest.

Laia sighed sadly, knowing she couldn’t delay it any longer.

She sat on the floor beside the couch and touched his face, “Flower, wake up.”

Ezra woke up with a start, but rubbed his eyes when he spotted her, “my baby,” he yawned before smiling at her, “you got pen stains all over your cheeks.”

Laia leaned into his touch as he brushed his thumb along her cheek, “well you know me, a working woman.”

He chuckled.“Come here,” his voice was still raspy from sleep.

But Laia leaned away. “Listen, we need to talk.”

At that, his thumb stopped its motion and he sat up. “What’s wrong?”

“I have to tell you something.”

——————————

“Pause?” Sher said when the bedroom door creaked open.

“Pause,” Roger said roughly as he slipped into bed beside her.

She moved to tangle herself in his arms, but he paused to hold her face in his palms.

“I hate you.”

Sher nodded, numbed beyond anything, “and I love you. It’ll always be you.”

“You’re killing me,” his voice broke and even in the dimly lit room, she saw how red his eyes were. “I hate you, Sher.”

“You said pause,” she begged.

At that, he finally shed the cold gaze. Underneath the anger was a man who was also as tired and numbed as she was. Without another word, he gestured at her to move so he could fit in their bed. Then he reached around to enclose her body with his, cocooning her into her favourite place in the world.

And he held her there, just as she held him.

Sher learned then, how exhaustion could belong to grief.

But in his arms, sleep was too easy. She resisted— trying to savour every second left with him. Come morning, she knew she’d be gone. And he must’ve sensed it, because he, too, didn’t sleep. Instead, his fingers brushed her hair softly, even as they trembled.

She pretended not to hear the soft cries he tried so hard to muffle. As if he still believed she didn’t hurt the way he did.

“I love you,” she said. Over and over and over, until they became whispers, lost in the dark.

He was silent, but his hold on her never loosened.

And time stood still, until it didn’t. Because nothing, not even two hurting souls, could stop the sun from dawning.

——————————

Sher woke up still wrapped in the arms of the man she loved.

She turned around to take a good look at him. Aside from the swollen eyes, there was no sign of sorrow on his face. Utterly peaceful and angelic— his golden hair curled around his sleepy face, colouring him into a renaissance painting.

Sher walked barefoot to the kitchen to sort herself a quick cup of tea, but she faltered when she realized she wasn’t alone.

A pale-faced Laia and Janis Joplin herself were pacing around the kitchen.

Sher had caught them just as they were flinging angry words at each other. But they stopped when they saw her.

“No,” Sher let out a soft cry, “Not yet.”

“I’m sorry darling, it’s now or never,” Fake Janis had the decency to grimace.

“Give me two minutes,” Sher gaped, “please.”

Fake Janis Joplin sighed, but she nodded.

Sher didn’t waste another second. She flew back into the bedroom.

Inside, Roger was still curled up in bed, breathing softly.

Sher ran to brush the sweaty strands off his face and dropped one final kiss on his head.

“I love you more than I’ll ever love anything else again. Nothing, not even time itself will ever change that,” she whispered at the sleeping man, but her voice broke as she whispered, “okay, blondie?”

Then Sher inhaled, turned around, and left.

“Are you ready?” Fake Janis asked the two of them.

Laia looked at Sher and offered her hand. “Trust me.”

Maybe it was the fear of travelling through time, or maybe she was just too tired of carrying everything on her own, but she did. Despite everything, she found she could trust Laia. With a nod, she held Laia’s hand in hers.

“Ready,” Sher said. She took one last look around the apartment, squeezing Laia’s hand in hers.

And then, as if all the lights in the world had been flicked off, her vision went dark.


	26. the bohemian rhapsody of all chapters

🎧 _bohemian rhapsody_ 🎧

This time, when she moved through space and time, Sher was awake.

But there was nothing to see. She was surrounded by a darkness so deep and rich, it made her forget she had a physical form. All she had was her consciousness— and a growing fear.

She tried to breathe, but there was no lungs to suffocate from. She shouted, but no sound echoed back. Fear threatened to pull her into a panic but before it could, she saw a blink of light, across her.

_There,_ she thought, _I’m not lost after all._

After the first dot of light, was another. And then another, and another. Until it grew into a million blinks of light, crowding the space of black.

Then, bigger blinks of lights— ten of them. And the first, the biggest of them all, grew into a flaming yellow sphere.

_Space._ She finally realized she was staring at the galaxy.

A familiar voice called out to her. “Sher?”

She turned around and saw a wide-eyed Laia.

The second she saw her, Sher found her physical form again— as if Laia was the tether keeping her from unraveling.

Sher ran to her. Or at least she tried to, but the air was liquid. So she swam to her, pushing through a current of invisible water to reach her.

A purple smoke gathered in front of them, and out of it, came fake Janis in her hippie attire — flared jeans and winged long-sleeves. Her unruly brown hair fell to her chest in messy waves.

“How long do we have?” Laia asked.

“Twenty minutes at most. So talk now, girl. What have you come to tell me?”

Sher looked between the two of them. “What’s going on? Where are we?”

“We’re in the in-between,” Fake Janis said, “The only place in the world where my asshat of a… boss can’t see us.”

Sher turned to Laia with a frown. “What are you gonna do?”

“Re-negotiate our terms,” Laia said with fire in her eyes, “because, Sher, we are about to break the goddamn chain.”

And there, a glimmer of hope bloomed in Sher’s chest.

——————————

Laia saw Sher perk up at her words and exhaled. Her friend wasn’t entirely gone. With Sher’s hand in hers, Laia snapped her attention back to the deity.

 _It will work,_ she chanted in her head, before putting on a fake, calm persona. Laia tilted her head to the side lazily. “What are the rules? And this time, don’t lie.”

“I never lied,” Fake Janis shrugged.

“But you did,” Sher, to Laia’s surprise spoke. “We know this is an alternate timeline. You didn’t send us back to the past. That _is_ a lie.”

“Ah, but I never said that,” Fake Janis shrugged. “I simply said I’d sent you to the 70s. I never specified if that meant time-travelling to the past or jumping into an alternate dimension. You made that conclusion all by yourself. Besides, you really think I care enough to play games with you? Please, I’ve been doing this for Millennias now. You aren’t special.”

But Laia gasped, at the final clue she had just unlocked. “Ah,” she pointed at Janis, “so _that’s_ the chain isn’t it?”

Janis finally broke into a sly smile. “Finally.”

Sher looked between the two of them. “What chain?”

“The chain that keeps her here, meddling with the business of humans.” Laia said, “This keeps happening to you, doesn’t it? You transport a few humans to different eras and each time, you test their humanity? Or is their willingness to stay? Well whatever it is, they always fail. They always choose the same path. _The chain never breaks_. Must be frustrating, to have done this a million times and have the humans leave, each time.”

Janis slit her eyes at Laia, “Careful how you talk to me, mortal. I still have the power to snap you into purple powder without breaking a sweat.”

“Except you won’t,” Laia said, “because we are your only chance out of this eternal suffering, or whatever it is that put you into this loop.”

At that Janis paused, looking at Laia with disdain but also… with a flutter of hope.

“Fine,” Janis narrowed her eyes, “but you keep uttering nonsense without any proof. What’s your grand plan, then?”

“No,” Laia felt her chest beating wildly. Because she knew she had to play it right, or risk losing everything she had planned all night. But she couldn’t propose her terms if she didn’t know the game. With a lazy drawl she said, “first, tell us the rules.”

Fake Janis scoffed. “Fine. But I do have to warn you, if this doesn’t work, I _will_ erase your minds of this truth. Still willing to risk it?”

Laia gulped, but when Sher squeezed her hand, she nodded. “It _will_ work.”

“Alright.” Fake Janis exhaled. “Two rules. I must carry the two humans back to their dimension, or none at all. But…” she hesitated, eyeing Laia. “…but in order to set _me_ free, I must convince at least one human to stay. You see? In your case it is a paradox, girl. It’ll only work if you both stay.”

Laia smiled then. “Yes, and no.” She felt adrenaline pump through her so rapidly, it could power up the whole world. “So,” she couldn’t hold the grin as she said it, “you need two humans to travel through time and space, but you need only one to stay for you to be freed?”

Beside her, Sher furrowed her brows, but Laia had done it. She’d found the goddamn loophole.

“Yes, technically yes. But I don’t see—”

Sher gasped then, her eyes widening. “No fucking way.”

Laia looked Fake Janis Joplin dead in the eyes and said, “here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to grant us a favour, because we’re about to save your ancient ass.”

Fake Janis looked at Laia as if she’d grown two heads. “How?”

“By bringing Ezra Sterling to the future, with _me_.”

——————————

When Ezra saw the flash of purple through Roger’s window, he ran out of the car and into the flat. Laia had told him to wait for a signal, but an explosion of purple sure as hell counted as one.

The door was unlocked but the living room was empty. He peered into the bedroom and saw Roger, still asleep. So the deity only took the girls.

Ezra paced around the living room, cursing silently. He was still trying to wrap his head around the things Laia told him the night before.

He had spent the whole night listening to Laia as she talked and talked and talked.

He almost lost it at least fifty times, but Laia had held his face in her small palms and willed him to believe. And if it was anyone else, he would walk away laughing.

But it was Laia. And not just Laia, the pre-med student who believed in facts and science. It was also Laia, who wouldn’t hurt a fly if it wasn’t a necessary evil. It was the Laia he’d fallen in love with. And it was her green eyes, full of honesty, that kept him listening.

So he’d listened and listened and listened.

And then she had asked him to choose. To stay in the 70s or leave to an unknown future.

Ezra almost had a breakdown, then. Because he had a glorious twelve hours to make up his mind.

And it should’ve been easy, shouldn’t it? Because there was nothing holding Ezra back, not really. And wasn’t it the lifetime adventure he’d always wanted for himself? Yet, it didn’t stop the unknown from terrifying him. The idea that he’d be transported to a world so different, _he_ would be the _different_ one.

But when he looked at Laia, he realized he hadn’t viewed the question correctly. It wasn’t the 70s or the 20s. No, he had to choose between staying behind without her, or leave with her. But it was still insane to leave everything he knew for a girl.

Then Ezra thought of a world without Laia and blanched. Because Ezra knew three things about himself.

One, he was going to be a writer.

Two, he had nothing spectacular to write about— which was why he tossed his degree to search for one.

And three, he had never been in love. That is, until Laia Adair stumbled into his mess of a life.

With Laia— he gulped at the realization— with Laia, he could do all three and _be happy._

It was enough.

Which was why, when he paced around Roger’s apartment and found it empty, he panicked. He feared he was too late, perhaps he’d missed his window.

He strode to the kitchen to fill himself a glass of water but he never got to drink it— not as the glass dropped into the sink and broke.

It broke because there was no hand holding the glass. Because Ezra, too, had disappeared from the flat.

——————————

When Ezra appeared out of the purple smoke, he broke into a karate stance— something he’d adopted from Laia.

Laia half laughed half sobbed when he saw her. He ran through the liquid air to pick her up in his arms.

“You sure?” she asked again, “you still have the chance to leave—”

But he shook his head and smiled. “You make me happy, Ly, like no one else has. I’m leaving, with you.”

Laia reached to kiss him, but a great thunder cracked around them. It sent waves of heat so painful, they hissed in pain.

“I can’t hold you here any longer,” Fake Janis cursed, looking above her to where a golden crack zig-zaged against the dark space.

“Okay,” Laia said, “then here’s what we’re going to do. You—” she pointed at Fake Janis—“will do _us_ a favour in exchange for us setting you free. Or I’ll make sure none of us gets what we want.”

Fake janis gritted her teeth. “What do you want,” she spat.

Laia inhaled, but with Ezra and Sher’s hands in hers, she found her strength. “I want you to give us your ability to travel back to the two universes whenever and wherever we want.”

Everyone fell into stunned silence. The only sound was the continuous splintering of their space as more and more cracks filtered light towards them.

“No.” Janis said.

Laia’s heart sank, but Ezra shook his head at her. _Keep at it,_ he mouthed. So Laia did.

“No,” she cleared her throat, “I think you’re going to do just that.”

“I still run the show, child. And I say no.”

“Then bring all of us to the future,” Sher roared, ”and rot in this eternal hell.”

A whoosh of hot air slapped Laia in the face. She thought it was Fake Janis’s doing, but it came from above them. The world was unraveling around them, the planets crumbling into dust.

“No, you don’t understand,” Janis said, “I cannot give you the power of a God. You are human, which means your intentions are corruptible. I can’t trust that you won’t bring chaos, no matter how good and naive you are now. So _no_ , pick something else. And do it fast,” at the last word, a drop of sweat fell from her forehead. They were quickly running out of time.

“How’s this,” Laia said, “We get a visit, one day every week.”

Fake Janis frowned in distaste, but after seeing the sun explode into a supernova behind her, she sighed. “Once a month. For three hours.”

“We’ll take it,” Sher said instantly, looking at Laia as if to say it was enough. It was better than enough. And their whole space was crumbling apart. They had to do it fast.

Laia nodded, “alright, and Ezra—”

“I’m not done,” Janis hissed, “Only you. Not her, not him, only _you_ get to travel. And you can’t carry anything with you or tell her anything that could change the fate of the world— or save _anyone_ who wasn’t meant to live.”

Laia paled and grimaced at Sher— the two of them shared a knowing look. Because if there was anyone they’d save… it would’ve been Freddie.

It was a grim, awful defeat. But Laia could only pick one battle at a time.

So, even as it broke her heart, she nodded.

“And to ensure that you don’t break any of this…” Janis twirled her finger and disappeared.

Laia gaped and looked around at Ezra and Sher, “where the hell did she go?”

Sher opened her mouth to answer, but she gasped instead. 

“No!” Sher roared with so much fury, her hands shook.

Laia turned around to see the sight that had sent Sher into anger, and she cursed. A bright bubble of golden light was floating beside Janis. And inside it, was Roger Meddows Taylor, awake and wide-eyed.


	27. innuendo

Sher ran to Roger, but Laia stood frozen in her stance, pinching the bridge of her nose. “What the _fuck_ did you do?” Laia hissed at Fake Janis.

“You all care for this mortal man,” Janis said.

“Sher—” Roger shouted but before he could say another word, Fake Janis twirled her fingers and muted him. Realizing he had no voice, Roger’s eyes widened in fear. He slammed his fist against the bubble, but it was of no use.

“Let him out,” Sher roared. She frantically scratched at the thing separating her from him. “Janis, for fucks sake, if you don’t—”

A great crack of thunder silenced her. They watched in horror as cracks began to form around them. Laia winced, realizing they were running out of time.

“Listen!” Fake Janis snapped. “He is the price for what you ask for. If any of you tries to find a loophole to our agreement, it will be on him. So none of that saving-the-world bullshit. Keep the two worlds separate, or I’ll put him in a misery so deep, he’ll be a shell of the person he is today.”

Laia gulped, seeing Sher turning white.

“Ly,” Ezra said in a panic, “we have to decide. Now.”

Laia nodded. “How will we know if what we’re doing or saying will change the world?”

“Oh, you’ll know,” Fake Janis’s eyes glinted with amusement, but Laia had no time to find out why.

“No—there must be another way,” Sher breathed, placing her palm on the invisible wall. But Roger was crouched down, breathing hard as he stared at his hands in fear. He was going into shock, Laia realized with a start.

Another roar of thunder and this time, it opened a piece of the sky with it. A blinding golden light shone through the hole. Instantly, they were bathed in scorching heat.

“Ly,” Ezra shielded his eyes in pain, “ _now_.”

Laia reached for Sher’s trembling hands and squeezed it. “I won’t let anything happen to him. We’ll be careful.”

Sher closed her eyes in defeat but she nodded. “Alright, do it.”

Laia turned to Fake Janis, “it’s a deal.”

“Great, because we have precisely sixty seconds before this dimension breaks. Go bid your puny farewells,” Janis purred. But there was an air of difference to the way she talked. An air of relief.

Laia brushed it away and reached for Sher, “I love you—”

Sher choked, “I’m sorry for—”

“Hush, you had every right. Be happy, okay?”

Sher nodded, even as her eyes flitted to Roger.

“Will you tell him,” Ezra said, “that I’ll miss him and the lads terribly? Tell them…” but he stopped, and Laia knew it was because he realized there was no way to explain any of it. So he just exhaled and reached to hug Sher. Then he stared at Roger with concern in his eyes.

Because Roger was pale as snow, pressing the heels of his palm against his eyes. But it was the words he was muttering to himself that worried Laia.

“Not real, not real, not fucking real…” he muttered.

Sher looked so devastated, it broke Laia’s heart. She realized the hell her friend was about to endure— the guilt and explanations she owed Roger— and knew it would be a hard day for them. And she wouldn’t be there to help her through it. Suddenly, their win felt like anything but a win.

But before she could say anything, fake Janis spoke. “We leave, now,” she said, before gazing at the stars and crumbling space around her like she’d never seen it before. Like she wasn’t going to see it ever again. She nodded when she saw Laia raising her brows, “Yes, to rest I go. At long last.”

Laia narrowed her eyes, but when Ezra tangled his hand in hers, she nodded to Janis.

A loud crack of lightning brought the sky upon them, but they were not there to witness its grand fall.

Laia only saw a split second of a smile on Fake Janis’s face, before she twirled her fingers and said, “Farewell, world.”

Then, they were off.

——————————

This time, the world collapsed into a dizzying ray of colours. The vibrant glitter flashed at her, as Laia moved past space and time. Through the kaleidoscopic blur, she felt everything fading.

No, that wasn’t true— everything but Ezra’s hand was fading, but he held on to her, and she held on to him.

Until the hazy bright colours grew lighter and lighter. Until it became a blinding white.

She thought they were lost, but the world coloured itself back into existence.

Ezra and Laia stumbled into each other when their feet hit the soft carpet of her dorm room.

Laia searched around for fake Janis, but all she saw was a split second of her wink, before she faded into purple smoke.

Too stunned to speak, she simply glanced around her room. It was untouched— the same second-hand textbooks still stacked on the floor the way she left it, a year ago. She suspected only a day had passed.

But it was also half empty. Half of the vinyls and posters had been replaced with empty spaces. Not even a dent on the wall to show they were once there. As if her best friend had never existed. 

She knew it was the right decision, but god, it was painful.

Laia dropped to the carpet, tears streaming down her cheeks, but she was too tired to do anything but stare at the glaring absence.

Grey eyes found her. Ezra leaned down to brush the tears from her cheeks.

“I know,” he whispered. Not _it’s alright,_ or _it’ll be okay_ , “I know, Ly.”

And for that alone, Laia would do anything for him. Risk everything for him.

He gently pulled her into his lap. And against his chest, she finally sobbed.

But through it all, she knew they had done the right thing.

Because they won, didn’t they?

So why did it feel like she’d just lost?

But none of it mattered, not when her wrist started burning.

——————————

Sher saw the world explode, and exhaled.

It was over.

She let the whirlwind of colours take her with a quiet exhaustion.

When it became too bright, she simply shut her eyes.

There was a lump in her throat, making it hard to breathe, so she stayed silent, even as tears streamed down her face.

It was over. But at what cost?

She opened her eyes, to find herself sitting on the floor of Roger’s apartment, alone.

Sher wrapped her arms around herself and glanced at the floor-to-ceiling window. To where the birds were chirping, as a cool wintry sunlight streamed into the flat.

The messy pile of wrapping papers and tapes around her were innocent bystanders to what she had endured.

She had a second of calm, before the bedroom door was slammed open and out came Roger. He ran his hand through his hair, breathing hard as he stared at her. The glaring question hung in the air for a few seconds. She nodded to confirm his suspicions that yes, all that did happen.

He let out a soft noise that was both relief and fear.

Roger dropped to the floor. He scrunched his brows, glaring at his hands, at the apartment floor, the walls, the window. He scrutinized everything around him with a coldness that terrified Sher. It was too harsh, too focused— it was shock.

With unsteady knees, she crawled to him, stopping a metre from him. “ _Hey,_ ” she said softly, “I’m here.”

“Am I… are you… real?” he croaked, even as he avoided her gaze.

Slowly, she reached for his trembling hand, running her thumb over the callused skin and stark blue veins. “I don’t know what is real or isn’t. Not anymore,” she whispered, “but I’m here— right now I’m here, and _this_ is real.”

He slipped his hand out of hers and pulled his knees to his chest.

Her heart sank, but Sher nodded. He didn’t need her there. “I’ll get Freddie,” she said, moving to stand up. But she heard the softest protest and saw his blue eyes staring at her with an intensity that could rival the sun.

“Stay,” he said roughly, “ _please_.”

“Are you sure?”

He closed his eyes, it only highlighted the shadows under his eyes. Tired— they were both so tired and bruised.

Sher crouched in front of him, tucking a stray blonde strand away from his face. He didn’t wince from her touch. She took that as an invitation to reach for his face.

He exhaled at her touch, before sliding her into his lap. “Pause?” he rasped, dropping his head on her shoulder. His skin was warm. Too warm.

“Do you wanna rest, darling?” she asked. She would save the hard conversations for another day.

He swallowed, pain flashing in his eyes when he leaned to look at her. “Can we stay here? Just for a bit. I’m not… my head’s… I don’t understand—” he grunted, clenching his fists.

“ _Hey,_ ” she repeated, gently uncurling his hands. “Come here.”

He hesitated, no doubt still reeling over the shock of what he had just experienced. Instead, he searched her face in a frantic, “am I going mad?”

Sher swallowed a sob to brush his wet lashes with her thumb. “No, my love. You are alright.”

At her words, he finally collapsed into her arms. The sudden weight of him almost made her topple over, but she held him. She ran her hand along his hair, untangling the knots in soothing motions. “You are alright,” she repeated.

In the midst of everything, the sky opened up to let a flurry of snow blanket the streets in white. She couldn’t let herself break down— not yet.

When the skin on her wrist began to burn, she was still too wired to do anything but stare in shock. But Roger broke away to curse in pain. “What in the—” he winced and Sher saw the instant the same burn began to form on his wrist.

They watched in horror as the pain subsided to reveal a purple, hour-glass sigil.


	28. epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

>   
> EPILOGUE  
>   
>  _what makes this fragile world go round?  
>  were you ever lost?  
> was she ever found?  
> _  
> 

_Almost a year later._

🎧 _space song by beach house_ 🎧

The September sun was setting.

Sher paced around the parking lot in her heels, waiting. When the purple fog finally appeared, she exhaled.

“I’m _so_ sorry,” Laia’s voice rang even before she appeared out of the mist. “The make up artist was an hour late, and my dress was wrinkly, so Ezra had to steam it while—”

“S’fine, we still have thirty minutes until it starts.” She paused to smile at Laia in her lilac dress. “You look stunning.”

“And you’re looking extra scandalous,” Laia grinned. “Is that a thigh slit? I suppose it’s only fitting, since you’re—”

“ _God,_ ” Sher rolled her eyes but laughed. “I’ve missed your sass, you dork.”

“I miss you too, love. And Ezra,” she sighed, “he misses everyone.”

“How’s he doing?” Sher asked as they walked into the venue. The whole park was adorned with white flowers. Rows of satin chairs already labelled with each guest’s last names. They swerved away from the crowd to enter the private indoor tent.

“He finally finished all 861 episodes of Doctor Who. And he’s been writing again. But sometimes,” Laia bit her lips, “sometimes I worry if he regrets it. There are days when it becomes too overwhelming for him. And he tries to play it cool, but I’ll find him zoning out or reaching for an old vinyl again.”

Sher squeezed her hand. “It’s not an easy headspace to be in. There will always be a part of him that misses his old world. It doesn’t mean he regrets his decision. Trust me,” she sighed, “I would know.”

Inside the tent, servers in formal attires sprinted with their platters of entrees. She spotted Brian, in his teal suit talking to one of them. When he spotted them entering, he sprinted towards Sher— panic on his face.

“Sher! Thank God! Where have you been? The lad is fully freaking out! You have to get there and calm him down. I’ve tried everything—”

Sher winced. “Right now?”

“Yes,” he looked apologetic, “I’ll get Laia sorted, you get him sane.”

Sher sighed but nodded. “Just— make sure it’s perfectly wholesome, okay?”

“I swear on my red special,” he said just as Laia asked, “get _me_ sorted?”

“Come, you genius,” he smiled proudly at Laia. He steered her to the best men room where everyone except the bride and groom was already waiting for them.

Sher sighed, bummed she was going to miss seeing the look on her best friend’s face, but she wasted no time and sprinted to the grooms room.

——————————

Roger bit his nails. Waiting made him antsy, and the champagne only did so much to tame his nerves. When the door finally opened, he exhaled. The whole room burst into a cheer, everyone raising their drinks to Laia.

Freddie was the loudest of them all. “Hear, hear, a doctor, amongst lowlives such as us!”

Laia’s gasp turned into a grin “How did you know? I _just_ got the acceptance letter this morning!”

Brian reached to fluff her hair, “No one has ever doubted you. _I_ always knew you took after me, Laia.”

“Oi,” Roger said, carrying the frosted fruitcake to her, “it’s Dr. Adair from now.”

“In four years, it’ll be Dr. Adair,” she corrected him with a soft smile.

“Guess what,” Freddie dipped his finger into the icing, “I’ve got you a present, Laia. I hope you like bejewelled scrubs.”

Roger transferred the cake into Freddie’s willing hands and watched as he began cutting them generous slices.

He lowered his voice to ask Laia, “how’s he doing?”

“Better,” she smiled sadly, “Ez got tickets to one of your future shows, so I guess he’ll be seeing you soon.”

Roger laughed. “The band’s still rocking it out in the new 20s then?”

A shadow passed over her face.“John’s—” but they both winced when their hour-glass mark sent flares of pain up their elbow. Whenever they got too close to changing the timeline, all four of them had to endure minutes of the blinding pain.

“Off limit information, then?” he said grimly. Laia nodded in defeat.

He knew the future held a devastating truth, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get a word out of Sher and Laia. But he wasn’t daft. He noticed the way Sher’s gaze would linger a second too long— not at Brian or him, but at John and Fred. She knew he noticed, but whenever he asked, she’d give him one of her sad smiles. It was her pain to carry, she’d say.

He exhaled harshly, rubbing his sore wrist. “I hate this stupid arrangement.”

“One of these days,” Laia said, “i’ll find a way to fix everything.”

Before he could agree, Freddie brought a plate with the biggest slice of cake to Laia. “Why the long faces? It’s a day for celebration, you clowns!”

“Laia’s reminding me exactly why I despise biology,” he lied, “too gory and not enough holidays.”

Freddie looked unconvinced but he steered Laia away to show her his gift.

“Where did Sher go?” he asked Brian when they left.

“Calming Deaky down,” Brian said.

“Still? I thought you had him settled?”

“I tried,” Brian frowned, “but to no avail. If Sher can’t do it, then wedding traditions be damned, we’ll have to get Veronica in there.”

“I’ll take a look at them.”

Brian narrowed his eyes. “Alright, but make sure both you and Sher are back in time for the ring ceremony,” he said but Roger started walking away, “I swear Rog, if you’re late—”

He didn’t stick around to hear the rest but he paused at the door to take a long look around the room.

Freddie, to Roger's amusement, had stolen someone’s camera to run around the room and videotape their friends from odd and unflattering angles. He saw a shiny glint and realized it was Laia in her new scrubs, posing for the camera. He searched for Brian and found him leaning against the wall, also eyeing the room with the same happy contentment.

Realizing they were in safe hands, Roger closed the door behind him with a warm smile.

——————————

🎧 _always forever by cults_ 🎧

“John Richard Deacon,” Sher held his shoulders firmly, “when you picture your life in twenty years, is she in it?”

He clucked his tongue, “yes.”

“Do you love her?”

“Yes.”

Sher squeezed his shoulder, “then, as one of your ushers, I’m going to say that yes, Veronica is most definitely the one.”

He exhaled softly, “Everything will be so different now”

“I know, but who said different _always_ equals bad? Different can be good.”

“Like what?”

“Like—” she paused, before pulling a winning grin. “Like disco.”

He chuckled, reaching to fluff her hair. “Is there ever a question you can’t answer?”

“Oh trust me, there are plenty.” She sobered to pat his shoulder, “ _hey_ , you’ll be alright.”

“You’re right,” he paused, looking at his hand, no doubt thinking of the ring that would grace it in a few hours. “I’m getting married today.”

“And you’ll be a perfect husband.”

“Thank you,” he looked at her with kind, sincere eyes. “Off you go, now. Let me have these last minutes to myself.”

“You sure you’ll be okay? You won’t run?” she teased.

He snorted and shooed her away. When she left the room, she heard him repeat to himself, “I’m getting married today.”

Sher’s smile was cut short by the sight of Roger walking to her in his teal suit— the official usher colour. She gave herself a moment take him in.

His hair was much shorter. She recalled the day he decided to get the long, blonde locks trimmed. Sher had put on a brave face, but at the first snip, she burst into pathetic tears— half laughing, half crying. Roger had frowned and promised to grow them again, but she shook her head. It wasn’t the hair. It was never really about the hair.

She never told him, but the truth was, Sher never thought she’d be there to see him grow into that version of him. She never thought she would stick around long enough to see him in an 80s mullet.

As she walked to him, she caught him absentmindedly reaching for his throat— because she still served as a living reminder of that in-between world. She swallowed a sob, remembering all the nightmares that had sent him screaming his throat raw— because he never fully recovered from losing his voice that day. But he was also Roger Taylor, whose great character flaw was his large heart. Despite everything that had happened to him, he still found the kindness to give and forgive.

She sighed, still reeling over the sting of their shared hour-glass mark.

To say the four of them escaped unscathed would be a lie. Some nights were hard, others crippling. Sher too, had her own fears of the inevitable future.

But when Roger broke into a soft smile at the sight of her from across the hall, Sher knew it wasn’t all bad. She’d have him— for however long the two of them got with each other— she’d have him.

And frankly, perhaps selfishly, she thought it was enough. It was more than enough.

——————————

When he saw her, Roger shook his head in defeat. No offence to John and his soon-to-be missus, but god, he must be the luckiest man in the world. Even in a simple teal dress, she managed to make his knees tremble.

“You’re too much, you know?” he said with a grin. He slid his arms around her waist to pull her closer.

Sher chuckled, her goddamn dimples blooming softly. “You don’t look so bad yourself, blondie.” She fixed his hair smoothly, her doe eyes bright and happy.

He couldn’t help it. With her in his arms, he was helpless. His finger traced along the line where her dress split to expose her thigh.“Wanna start a bet?”

“What bet?” her eyes sparked with a wicked amusement.

“I bet,” he whispered into her ears, “no one will notice how your dress suddenly has two slits.”

She swallowed, her eyes growing hazy. “And what will I get, when you lose?”

He was about to say something witty, but seeing her like that, he could only smile helplessly. “Everything,” he softly thumbed her cheek, “don’t you already own everything of mine?”

She blinked, equally surprised at his words. Then her eyes softened and she pulled him into a kiss. Her lips brushed his with a tenderness he knew all too well.

“We’re gonna be late,” she said against his lips.

He nodded, but his fingers roamed around the back of her neck, to gather her pretty curls in his hand. He would never admit it, but he’d always found them so goddamn adorable. “Brian’s going to murder us,” he said, even as he pinned her against the wall.

“And Laia, too.”

The way her voice hitched only made his rough. “Don’t worry,” he breathed on her neck, before dropping a trail of kisses on her collarbone. “They won’t start without us.”

“Why?”

“Because I have the goddamn ring in my pocket.”

Sher laughed then, the sweet sound ringing across the hall. Then she eyed him with the very mischief that started it all. She wrapped his tie around her small hand and pulled him to the first empty room they could find— all the while grinning wickedly at him.

Roger shook his head, again in defeat. _What the fuck did you get yourself into, you fool,_ he thought with a smile. He knew he was utterly fucked— because he was helplessly, madly in love with her. And he didn’t mind it for one bit.

That’s when he realized, the world wasn’t perfect— maybe it was never meant to be perfect, but he could live with what he had. Because, in a world where battered hearts were allowed to mend, even the toughest could hope to endure.

And hell, Roger Taylor quite liked his odds.

__

_._

_._

_The end_

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 💖💖💖💖💖


End file.
